Skip to main content

Full text of "The Strand Magazine: An Illustrated Monthly"

See other formats

(""rw^nL'' Original from 



riginal from 

iginal from 



al from 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 





An Illustrated Monthly 


Vol lxii 


XoaDon : 



ru^nl^" "riginal from 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 


f~ Origin-al from 





An Illustrated Monthly 



Vol. LXII 

Xcnbott : 







ACROSTICS 52,160,234,321,456,563 


BIRDS AS PARENTS /. Arthur Thomson, M.A., LL.D. S3 

Illustrations from Photographs. 
BIT OF ORANGE PEEL, A " Sapper" (H. C. McNeile). 415 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 
BULLY OF BROCAS COURT, THE: A Legend of the Ring A. Oman Doyle. 381 

Illustrations by Steven Spurrier, R.O.I. 

CAR, THE HOME-MADE W. Heath Robinson. 178 

CATS THINK? DO W.H.Hudson. 161 

Illustrations by Tom Peddie. 
CHAPLIN, CHARLIE A. B. Walkley. 502 

Illustrations from Photographs. 
'• COCKTAIL, SAR ? " H.deVere Slacpoole. 152 

Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale. 

DANCING, FOOTNOTES ON Philip J. S. Richardson. 348 

Illustrations from Photographs. 
D'AVENANT MYSTERY, THE Horace Annesley Vachell. 248 

Illustrations by John Campbell. 
DEAR LIAR, THE Edgar Wallace. 526 

Illustrations by Norah Schlegel. 
DILEMMA IN MORALS, A F. Britteti Austin. 339 

Illustrations by Sydney Seymour Lucas. 
DRAMA WAS DRAMA, WHEN THE Stephen Leacock. 132 

Illustrations bv " Robin." 
" DREAM ! WHAT A* " Mabel Lucie AttweU. 496 

EGREGIOUS GOAT, THE Morley Roberts. 35 

Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd and G. L. Stampa. 
EYES HAVE IT. THE .. Dana Gatlin. 3 

Illustrations by Norah Schlegel. 

FAILURE, THE T.Joyce. 369 

Illustrations bv E. G. Oakdale. 

FIRST NIGHTS. SOME A. B. Walkley. 259 

Illustrations bv Tom Peddie. 

FIT-UP, THE .. Gilbert Frankati. 430 

Illustrations bv W. Smithson Hroadhead. 


III.— The Man Who Hated Earthworms 27 

IV.— The Man Who Died Twice 135 

V.— The Man Who Hated Amelia Jones 278 

VI.— The Man Who Was Happy 313 

Illustrations by E. Verpilleux. 

FRAUD, THE FINE ART OF Charles Kingston. 32? 

Illustrations bvW.G Whitaker. 


INDEX. ft- 


GETTING RID OF M W. B. Maxwell. 44i 

Illustrations by VV. Hatherell, R.f. 
CLASS OF WHISKY,, A " Sapper " (H. C. McNeiU). 473 

Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale. 


Illustrations from Photographs by the Author. /. J. Ward, F.E.S. 449 

HEEL OF ACHILLES, THE P. G. Wodehouse. 389 

Illustrations by Alfred Leete. 

INFERNAL MACHINE. THE F \ Britten Austin. 8«; 

Illustrations by S. Seymour Lucas. 


Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills. 

KING AND THE PRINCE OF WALES, THE. Some Intimate and Amusing Anecdotes of the 

Royal Family Ernest Brooks. O.B.E. 204 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

LAWN-TENNIS TACTICS H. Roper Barren. 23 

Illustrations from Photographs. 
LONG HOLE, THE P. G. Wodehouse. 122 

Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills. 

MAN OF LETTERS, A Stacy Auwomer. 46 

Illustrations by Charles Crombie. 
MAN WHO GOT OUT, THE Rentes Shaw. 168 

Illustrations bv Charles Crombie. 
MAN WITH NO SENSE OF HUMOUR, THE Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. 143 

Illustrations by J. Dewar Mills. 

MAY, PHIL: Some Unpublished Drawings Arthur Lawrence. 235 

MOTH AND THE STAR, THE Gilbert Frankau. 214 

Illustrations by Howard Elcock. 
MR. BRANNIGAN .. Crosbie Garstm. 498 

Illustrations by A. Watts and L. R. Bright well. 

MR. CRAY'S ADVENTURES E. Phillips Oppettheim. 

IX.— The Recalcitrant Mr. Cray 61 

X.-— Mr. Cray Returns Home 183 

Illustrations by S, Abbey. 
MR. PAUL F. Britten Austin. 552 

Illustrations by S. Seymour Lucas. 

•NEVER STOP— NEVER GIVE UP!" Edison Marshall. 329 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 

NIGHTMARE ROOM, THE A. Conan Doyle. 545 

Illustrations by S. Seymour Lucas. 

PAINTING AS A PASTIME.— I The Right Hon. Winston Cliur chill. , 535 

With Reproductions of his Paintings. 
PAUL LAMERIE CUP. THE Horace Annesley Vachell. 13 

Illustrations by John Campbell. 
PERPLEXITIES .. Henry E. Dudeney. 94,190,286,378,470,566 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 
PIERROT AND THE BLACK CAT Stella Callaghan. 567 

Illustrat.ons bv Trcver Evans. 

Sir William Robertson Nicoll. With an Interview by .. .. .. .. Sidney Dark. 365 

P. G. Wodehouse 506 

PRINCE. THE HOSTS OF THE St. X that Singh. 482 

Illustrations from Photographs. 
PUZZLE CRANKS* SYMPOSIUM, THE OH < I i II a I " TO m Henry E. Dudeney. 564 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 







Illustrations by Tom Peddie, and from Photograph; 

Matheson Lang 

Alfred Shrubb 


Illustrations by Sydnev Seymour Lucas. 

Illustrations by W. Hatherell, R.I. 

Illustrations by Howard Elcock. 
SHERLOCK HOLMES ON THE FILM : An Interview with Eille Norwood 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

Illustrations by A. Gilbert, R.O.I. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


1.— The Undiscovered Murder 

Illustrations bv Charles Crombie. 

Illustrations by H. M. Bateman. 

Illustrations by Norah Schlegel. 


Alfred Shrubb. 116 



F. Britten Austin, 193 

Edward Cecil. 79 

. . James Ban. 241 

. . Fenn Sherie. 72 

A. Conan Doyle. 289 

Caruso. 550 

Phillips Oppenheim. 


William Caine. 577 

Roland Pertwee. 105 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

Illustrations by J. Dewar Mills. 

Illustrations by Sydney Seymour Luca>. 

Illustrations by Tom Peddie. 

Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead. 

Illustrations by Alfred Leete. 
TONGUE ! WHAT A : The Convolvulus Hawk-Moth's Wonderful Si cking-Tru 

Illustrations horn Photographs bv the Author. 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 

//. Roper Barrett. 1 23 

Barry Pain. 452. 590 

Clarence Meily. 461 

Jane Cotol. 308 

W. B. Maxwell. 353 

Stafford Ransome. 362 


J. J. Ward. F.E.S. 440 

Pereei'aJ Gibbon. 224 

W. Heath Robinson. 457 


Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead. 

Illustrations by Wilmot Lunt. 

4 Sapper " (//. C. McNeile). 97 
P.G. Wodehouse. 299 

. . L. J. Beeston. 584 

Stacy Aumonier. 405 
.J. Arthur Thomson M.A., LL.D. 518 


Illustrations by E. Verpilleux. 


Illustrations by Charles Crombie. 


■ Illustrations from Photographs. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 
WOOD, SIR HENR.Y Dr. Ethel Smyth. 425 

Illustrations from Photographs and from a Painting. 

Illustration from a Photograph. 
WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT? W. B. Maxwell. 266 

Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead. 

C* f\i~uT- 1 fc Original from 

, UUy It M u iy Tnn J y Q p ui fU |£Ak| 



Wtqr TAX your 

Cat a REBATE by 




Sweets without cooking! 

At a cost of less than one shilling a pound 

Truly the most delicious sweets you ever ale — 
chocolates, cirarnv fudge, bonbons — Jitter titan 
the most expensive sweet you can buy 1 

And the wonderful thing about h is that anybody 
can make it — in ten minutes' time — wilhoul 
tasking ! 

The onlv ina^ic needed is Lihbv\*i Kvai 10 rated 

Just mix half a gill of Libby's Evaporated Milk 
with E lh. of icing sugar, flavour to taste, and 
drop from a spoon i>n oiled paper. 

That's the fount tai km formula from which an 
endless variety of sweets can h** made— and they 
are all dtscrihed in the new Libby Milk Booklet 
we are waiting i<> send you. 

The whole tiling is so simple there's no chance of 
failure— not much like the old fashioned cooked 

Get your tin of Libby's F.vaporatrd Milk to-day 

and yive vmir family — and yourself — a real lic.i:, 
one thai you'll want to repeat frequently. 

And let the kiddies make their own sweets — 
iheVll have the lime of their lives. Besides* the 
creamy richness of Libby's Milk— which alone 
makes possible these wonderful sweets — furnishes 
just the wholesome food value in the sweet you 
want your children to have* In fact f it's a jolly 
fine food for the whole family. 

But don't stop at using Libby's Milk in sweets — 
that's only one of the many miracles you can 
perform with it. 

Use it in all your cooking— in ice cream, in 
coffee and cocoa. 

Just try the recipes in the Milk Booklet and 
WHtch ihe saving on your builer bills, for Libby's is 
(he milk— "so rich you need no butler." The 
Lihby Milk Booklet will he sent to you free— write 
fur your copy to-day. 

Let your Grocer be your Milkman, 

Libby, M c Neill & Libby, Ltd, 









nrTFncraiKffi*! ■ I ■ L« J 1% 





July, 1 92 1 


A very large number of readers entered this competition, of whom fifteen sent in 
correct solutions. We have therefore decided to divide the three prizes of £10, 
£5, and £3 among these, each of whom will receive £1 4s. The names and 

addresses of the winners are :— 


20, Kensington Gate, London. W.& 


34, Hickman St., Gainsborough. 

Miss E. P. KINGDOM, 

3, Court Rd., Tunbridsje Wells. 


Bedford House, Chartham, nr. Canterbury. 


23, St. Thomas's St., Weymouth. 

Mr. R. VALIN, 

Ashford Grammar School, Kent. 


11, Efterton St., Old ham, Lanes. 


0, Chandos St., Cavendish Soj., W. 


SS, Nibthwaite Rd., Harrow. 

Miss MOORE, 

72, Regent's Park Rd.. N.W.1. 

Mr. A. G. WILSON, 

Croarlin, Ballyancrbliss. nr m Lisburn, 
Co. Down, Iroland. 


37, South Grove, Hiffhsjate, N.S. 


5, Titchfleld Terrace, N.W.S. 


Glen Doone, Bull Lane, Gerrard's Cross, 

Mr. GEORGE lfl! ( fffN^LASff!, 
19, Albion Place, Leith. 


(~*r\r%Ci\^ Original from 


HAVE you ever seen a 
woman, when dress- 
ing before a mirror, 
pause in the act of 
brushing her hair to gaze at 
her reflection with a certain arrested, ab- 
sorbed, dreamy, yet searching expression ? 
Have you seen her turn her head this 
way and that, pick up a hand-glass and 
study her profile ? If so, you may have 
wondered. Obviously it is not exigencies of 
her toilette that have evoked this meticulous 
scrutiny. Besides , there is au odd kind of 
look iri her eyes, pensive, dreamy, wistful, 
that women do not bestow upon an ordinary 
toilette — nor evenuponan extraordinary one* 

No. That woman is seeking out her 
romantic possibilities. 

If unmarried, she may have some concrete 
motive, some definite desired end in view. 
And if married—— Now, do not stop here 
and decide that this is the kind of story you 
doiVt care to read. It is the story of a 
married woman come to such a moment of 
pause, but it is not at all an 4 * immoral " 
story. For there are few women, I claim, 
who, even after marriage, do not pause, some 
time or other, to look at themselves with 
that dreamy, pensi%^e, wistful scrutiny, seek- 
ing to know whether the weapons of conquest 
still are theirs, 

Corinna Benson, standing absorbed before 
her own reflection, would not have wished 


her lot changed one whit, 
She had been married 
nearly three years to her 
Andy; three years of ups- 
and-downs, naturally, for 
Corinna and Andy were but human. 

The" evening before the Bensops had played 
bridge with some friends, and a woman, 
whose name is not important to this narra- 
tive, had chanced to mention a man whose 
name is not important either. Corinna didn "t 
even remember his name overnight, though 
he was, in a way, the unsuspecting sower of 
the seed of that discord she came to fear 
would rupture her entirp life. The woman, 
gossiping lightly, mentioned the man as 
one invincible to woman's wiles ; numerous 
campaigns had been waged against the citadel 
of his heart in vain, 

The woman turned laughingly to Corinna. 

11 I wish he could have run up against 
you — in the days before you were married/' 

That lightly- voiced remark somehow 
aroused in Corinna two simultaneous but 
diverse emotions : a flicker of pleased vanity 
because of the flattering implication, and 
something else which caused her, bridling a 
bit, to ask : — 

" Why do you say ' before I was married ' ? " 

" Oh, you're so settled now — you don't 
know there's a man in the world but Andy." 

Corinna, puckering her brows a little* 
glanced across at her husband* 



The Eyes Have It 

" Am I so settled as all that ? " she asked 

" I hope so," he responded, smiling at her. 

Now, Andy had a nice smile — it was one 
of the things about him Corinna had fallen 
in love with ; but, just now, curiously, some- 
thing in it — its bland assurance, serenity, 
security, what-not — nettled her. 

Talk drifted desultorily to other topics ; 
the nameless Gibraltar of masculinity was 
passed by and forgotten ; but a seed had 
been planted in Corinna, in some vague spot 
betwixt thought and feeling where such seeds 
are apt to fall. Yes, Corinna did not remem- 
ber the invincible one's name, she did not 
even aspire to meet him in particular ; but, 
next morning, as she dressed before her 
mirror, she caught herself staring at her own 

Was she so " settled," then ? Were all 
those weapons of allure, once so skilfully hers, 
now for ever sheathed ? 

Andy admired her — that she knew. But 
it does strike a woman hard, now and then, 
that her adored and adoring husband seems 
to take her charms as a prosaic matter of 
course — and indisputably his own. 

Nevertheless, no helpmeet was ever more 
solicitous, hovering, and devoted than was 
Corinna in the days immediately following 
that brief, stock-taking pause. The Bensons 
were on the verge of their first long separa- 
tion ; Andy was going on an extended business 
trip, and he insisted that she should accept a 
long-standing invitation from an aunt; he 
would send the car to Pleasantville, fetch 
Corinna at the end of his business trip, and 
then they'd motor home together. 

Corinna accepted the wisdom of his decision 
soberly, but she threw her arms about his 

" Oh, Andy, I shall be so homesick ! I 
wish I could go with you." 

" I can't bear to think of you in those stuffy 
trains, darling, and knocking about in those 
sweltering hotels." 

" But you'll have to knock about in them," 
she commiserated. 

" Oh, I can stand it ail right," he said. 
fi Of course I'll miss you like the deuce ; but 
I can stand the discomforts a whole lot better 
if I know you are cool and comfortable and 
having a good time." 

" But I'll be having a horrible time ! I'll 
be homesick for you every minute, Andy." 

The funny part of it was that Andy believed 
her ; he believed her even while, pursuing 
that absurd practice with which humans 
profess to disbelieve their dear convictions, 
he argued that she'd soon be forgetting him 

" You'll be trying out your hand again 
before you know it," he said, fatuously. " I 
don't doubt that by the time I show up 

you'll be wearing a brana-new collection of 

" Oh, Andy ! " she reproached. 

And the funny thing was that he believed 
her ; and even funnier, that she believed 
herself. She was sincerely convinced — at 
the time — rthat the month for her would be a 
stretch of grey, lonely, empty days leading 
up to the hour of seeing Andy again. 

THAT prospect tinged over with melan- 
choly the business of buying new clothes 
for her holiday — and when this delectable 
business is dulled for whatever reason, it is 
proof incontestable that the whatever-reason 
is sincere. You see that I want to prove to 
you, in the beginning, that Corinna did love 
her husband, and was grieved at the spectre 
of separation, and that she was not guilty 
of any conscious premeditation as to that 
which was about to develop to her apparent 

At the farewell, on the platform, her eyes 
grew misty. 

" Buck up ! " cheered Andy. " It's only 
a month. And then we'll have that motor- 
trip home together." 

" Yes, that will be wonderful," she said, 

Throughout her journey Corinna con- 
tinued wrapped in her mantle of tender 
dejection. She wondered whether she had 
remembered to tuck in Andy's digestive 
tablets, whether she would receive a letter 
in the morning, whether those seaside 
girls were as attractive as hearsay made 
them out. Of course she wanted him to 

have a good time, but It is to her 

credit that, those first lon^, dismal hours, 
she gave not one thought to any possible 
" good time " she herself might encounter 
in Pleasantville. 

And it is the more to her credit because, 
once, she had had a " good time " in Pleasant- 
ville — an uncommonly good time. It was 
four or five summers ago, before she met 
Andy, before she had ever thought definitely 
of marriage and its attendant " settling 

IT was in Aunt Sarah's car, sitting beside 
Aunt Sarah herself — a kind, contented, 
very wise and motherly spinster — that 
Corinna noticed a young man, crossing the 
street in front, of them, glance up, peer, and 
then, at the risk of being run down, pause to 
lift his hat before scurrying out of the way. 

" Who was that ? " asked Corinna, reflec- 
tively. " He looks sort of familiar." 

Aunt Sarah smiled. " He ought to," she 
observed. " I remember he lived on my 
doorstep the last time you were here." 

" There were so many " said Corinna, 

puckering her browpj FM|CH|GAN 

Dana Gatlin 

Aunt Sarah smiled again. " Well, that 
one's Woodford King," she replied. 

" Oh — Woodie { " Corinna 's tone dropped 
a trifle. She vaguely remembered Woodie. 

" Woodford is quite a Lothario in the gay 
married set, I believe," commented Aunt 

Corinna smiled absently in reply ; she was 
trying to " place " Woodie King more 
definitely ; certainly there had been nothing 
of the dashing Lothario in the humble young 
adorer she dimly recollected. 

When Aunt Sarah spoke again it seemed 
on another subject. "I'm glad you married 
a man like Andy," she paid. "So sensible 
and dependable and stable — it's stability in 
marriage that makes a woman most happy." 

A singularly unwise remark for so wise an 
onlooker of life as - Aunt Sarah ! For some- 
thing in that phrasing — " stability in mar- 
riage " — jarred on Corinna. 

CORINNA met Woodie a night or so after 
her arrival at the Club-house dance. 
She had thought beforehand that any 
diversion Pleasantville might offer jwould be 
savourless, but in one of the new frocks she'd 
purchased with such little zest she derived 
an unexpected pleasure from its becoming- 
ness. Woodie, on the Club-house porch, 
told, her it looked like a pilfered bit of the 
shimmering moonlight. Corinna smiled a 
satisfied smile in the gloom ; and she didn't 
give her dressmaker even half the credit for 
the compliment. She had danced several 
times with Woodie, not failing to notice the 
rather strained interest of other women 
present. Sfce wasn't completely shelved 
yet, after all ! 

She drifted with Woodie out to the 
shadowy porch. She asked what he'd 
been doing all these . years ; and Woodie, 
with a fair record of achievement to his 
credit, was not at all loath to tell her. 
Corinna looked and murmured praise ; and 
then she asked : — 

"How has it happened you've never 
married ? " - 

Now that, on the surface, sounds like a 
simple and unreprehensible question ; and 
Corinna seemed to ask it frankly enough, 
but there was an odd little sense of some- 
thing tentative, expectant, underneath her 
casual inquiry. 

Nor did Woodie refuse that little mute, 
less-than-implied challenge. 

" The girl I'd have wished to marry," he 
said, throwing away his cigarette and 
staring at her moodily, " married someone 

That was an answer, if you please, to 
satisfy Corinna, and more ; to warn her 
that enough is enough. But the worst 
feature about a vague, subconscious yearning 

for flitting Romance is that reason goes to 
sleep and doesn't tell you when to stop. 

Corinna, believing that a mask of imper- 
sonality makes such talk all right, looked 
frankly into his face, and exclaimed : — 

" Oh, I'm so sorry ! But surely you can 
find someone else — the world's so full of 
lovely girls " 

Woodie shook his head gloomily. It's 
beside the point that, probablyy . until the 
day before he hadn't thought of Corinna 
for years. We all know, what moonlight, 
night scents, the sound of far-off music, and 
a pair of shining eyes— not to mention that 
spice of adventure — can do. So Woodie 
shook his head gloomily, and lied : — 

" No ; I don't think I'll ever forget her." 

" What was she like ? " asked Corinna, 

" She was very beautiful," he said, staring 
at her. " As beautiful as you." 

Despite the daring of that last, it gave 
Corinna a certain odd sense of relief. Switch- 
ing herself off as a separate personal entity 
in this way somehow lessened her too- 
absolute identification with his mourned 
lost one. So, relieved, she could say, in a 
matter-of-fact way : — +.-*<. 

" Me ? Why, there's nothing beautiful 
about me ! " 

For answer Woodie laughed. 

And Corinna laughed too. " What makes 
you say I*m beautiful ? " she demanded, as 
if amusedly amazed that such a preposterous 
claim could be made for her. 

From time immemorial women have 
played that teasing line ; and from time 
immemorial men have swallowed the bait 
just .as the soft-eyed, protesting, astute 
casters have known they would. 

Corinna, sitting there listening to her own 
praise, was feeling a peculiar kind of gratifica- 
tion that only women may know. It was 
not that she was especially happy — indeed, 
she wrote Andy, and truthfully, that she 
didn't really enjoy that Club-house dance 
because he was so far away. Yet she was 
basking in a -kind of glowing satisfaction. 
This feeling had nothing to do with Woodie 
King, specifically; and nothing to do with 
the things he said, in particular. No ; the 
individual, or the words he says, often do not 
matter. It is a contact, a spark, a vague, 
quickened something, which proves to us that 
something we feared was lost is not yet gone. 

At home that night, after writing Andy, 
she kissed his photograph and went to bed, 
reflecting she had promised to go for a ride 
in Woodie's car before breakfast. And in 
the next four weeks Corinna motored with 
Woodie, played golf with Woodie, danced 
with Woodie, and sat talking with Woodie 
in sequestered comers till Pleasantville 
began to nudge and Aunt Sarah to lecture. 


The Eyes Have It 

IT was all just a leading-up to the day when 
Andy, fagged and " jumpy," but smiling 
and ardent-eyed, arrived in Pleasantville 
to carry off his Corinna. He arrived late in 
the afternoon, and Corinna had planned to 
meet his train with their own car, which 
was there awaiting the anticipated trip 
home. But she had stayed out on the lake 
longer than she thought ; when she dis- 
covered the hour there wasn't time to get 
the car from the garage, and she was grateful 
that Woodie — who had been present on the 
lake, of course ! — offered her the use of his. 

She hadn't dreamed she would be so glad 
^ to see Andy. At the first sight of him a 
wave of ineffable tenderness swept over her, 
and shone effulgently in her eyes. * And Andy, 
seeing that look, believed himself to be the 
happiest man in the world as he rode away. 

Of course, he didn't know* it* was Woodie 
King's car — he didn't even know there was 
a Woodie King infesting the earth — yet ; and 
he had other things to talk about thaiv the 
car they chanced to be riding in ; and 
Corinna didn't think it the moment to start 
explanations as to why shfe" hadn't brought 
down their own car. r 

She wasn't pleased, as they drew up in 
fropt of Aunt Sarah's, to see the car's owner 
in the midst of a gay group. But she intro- 
duced Andy all round, and tried not to view 
the intruders distastefully as they chattered 
inconsequences : " How lucky that Mr. 
Benson had got in in time for the Club dance 
that night ! " — " Couldn't he be persuaded to 
stay more than just two days ? " — " Every- 
one would miss Corinna — she'd been the life 
of everything." 

And someone, "of course, had to smile, and 

' : It's a good thing you came to look after 
your wife, Mr. Benson." 

" Yes ? " said Andy, smiling good- 

" Woodie 's a devil with the ladies," tlie 
prattler went on, " and that old boy-and-girl' 
sweetheart thing, you know." 

" Oh, yes," said Andy. " And which one's 
' Woodie ' ? " 

He was still smiling good-naturedly, but 
Corinna observed him straighten in his chair 
and turn to regard the indicated Lothario. 

Corinna had been reared to act like a lady, 
but, at that moment, she could have kicked 
the prattling idiot. Not to mention the 
supreme joy she would have derived from 
kicking the complacent Woodie himself. 

" Who is this Woodie fellow, anyway ? " 

The question was on the end of Andy's 
tongue, but he kept it from rolling off into 
speech. A curious, tight little stricture of 
reserve held him. It wasn't that he was at 
all jealous — the glow he had caught in 
Corinna's eyes at the station told him he 

needn't be jealous of all the Woodies in the 
whole world. 

Meanwhile Aunt Sarah was commenting 
on Andy's tired appearance. And then 
Corinna began to commiserate him delicious] y. 
The poor dear worked too hard — the motor 
trip home was just the thing for him — she 
was looking forward to it, too — it would be 

" Tell me something about this Woodie 
fellow ! " It still burned on his tongue ; but 
aloud, following her trend, he asked : — 

" Is the car in good order ? " 

" Oh, yes, splendid ! " Corinna assured 
him. She had ! had it thoroughly l looked 
over at the garage — they could start out in 
it this minute, if necessary. 

It was at this juncture that Aunt Sarah 
was guilty of an unwonted tactless question 
— -or was ^fte so naive as she seemed r 

" I thought you were going to take it down 
to meet Andy," she remarked. t "How did 
you happen to go in Woodford '5 car ? " 

Woodie 's nafne at last ! Bdt Andy couldn't 
have claimed he was pleased at the connec- 
tion with which It came— it was in that 
fellow's car Corinna had driven, to meet 
him ! He had ridden m the felloe's car ! 
But he tried -to make his tone easy as he 
seconded Aunt Sarah's question :— 

" Yes; why didn'trybu bring bur own car, 
Corinna?" *\. v * 

To his surprise a flush spread slowly over 
her face as, crumbling a bit of cake in her 
fingers, she replied : — 

"I found I didn't have time to go to the 
garage. You see, we'w;ere out on the lake, 
and I didn't realize it Ws so late 

" I see/' skid' Andy. 

He didn't intend his voice to be so caustic ; 
he flattered himself that he was maintaining 
admirable self-control. But something in 
his tone' made Corinna look up at him wist- 
fully, pleadingly. 

" Please do see, Andy. It wasn't that 
1 wasn*t anxious to meet you. When I 
discovered I was late, the lake and — and 
everything seemed all at once hateful. My 
only thought was to get to the station in 

" But you didn't have to get there in that 
car. You could have taken a taxi." 

" Taxis don't grow as thick in Pleasant- 
ville as in town, Andy," she explained, still 
mollifying and wistful. 

" Well, anyway, you didn't have to subject 
me to riding in that fellow's car ! " 

Corinna stared at him, amazed at the 
sudden mystifying explosion. 

" But why do you object so to riding in 
Woodie's car ? " 

Why, indeed ! Andy, just then, couldn't 
have explained coherently even to himself. 

Dana Gatlin 

But he did object ; violently. And he 
objected to the soft, placating, determinedly 
reasonable way in which she went on : — 

" There's nothing for us to quarrel over, 
Woodie is just an old friend who hp 

" So I infer ! " he cut in acidly. 

At that, Corinnas softness began, almost 
imperceptibly, to stiffen, 

11 Well, let's not air our quarrels in public. 

wished to speak to her. Aunt Sarah hoped 
it wasn't Woodie calling up about some 

But it was just that. 

When Corinna went to answer at the 
upstairs connection, she was already in a 
state of offended dignity, wounded tender- 
ness, dull resentment. On the very threshold 
of their reunion, he could act like that — 
irritable, suspicious. To think he'd stoop 
to jealousy of a Woodie King; ! At the 
moment she bated the local fascinator 
with a deep, cold, contemptuous 
Jkdg^^ hatred. 

Such was her feeling to- 
ward Woodie when, 
going to the upstairs 
extension and tak- 
ing up the re- 
ceiver from 

'*The girl I'd have wisned 

to marry,' he saio\ staring 

at her moodily, - married 

someone else/ " 

at any rate," she said, with assumed sweet- 
ness, rising from the table. " If you 11 
excuse me, 111 run upstairs to dress." 

Alone with Aunt Sarah, Andy felt no 
better, because he felt constrained to mumble 
awkward, shamed, inadequate apologies. 
That wise, comprehending spinster looked a 
little worried when, shortly after Andy had 
betaken his cigar out to the porch, the 
telephone rang p and the maid, answering, 
called up to Corinna that a gentleman 

the hook, she heard Woodie's voice over thf 

" That you, Corinna ? " 

Her impulse was to snap back some 
retort which \vould in a measure relieve her 
emotions. But before she could speak she 
was arrested by a noise in the mechanism of 
the telephone — the minutest of sounds, just 
the delicate ghost of a click. She caught 
her breath and listened. Silence. But she 
knew what that furtive click had meant — 



The Eyes Have It 

knew it just as well as though she'd seen 
Andy's stealthy hand on the receiver down- 
stairs. So he was eavesdropping ! — he had 
descended to that ! He, her husband, had 
stooped to spy on her, his wife ! He should 
not be disappointed, then ! Let him hear 
something worth his despicable espionage ! 

She made her voice warm and vibrant. 

" Yes, Woodie ; I was hoping you'd call up." 

Woodie gave a little satisfied laugh. 
" What — with your husband home ? " 

Corinna laughed back, a low, amused 
ripple ; and she said, deliberately : — 

" Oh, a husband's not such a novelty 
after one's been married a few years. What 
did you want, Woodie ? " 

11 Oh, I thought I'd make sure of some 
dances to-night. Of course I can't hope 
for the first one — now." 

" Why not ? " asked Corinna, sweetly. 

" Why, I supposed your husband " 

" Fiddlesticks ! " she cut in. " You'll have 
the first dance, as you've always had it." 

Then, not daring to trust Woodie longer, 
or herself either, she hastily said " au revoir." 
Considering that she had wanted to give 
Andy something worth listening to, she 
should have felt happier as she continued 
her toilet. But she didn't. 

SHE could hear Andy dressing in the 
adjoining room. She was glad his bags 
had been placed in there ; despite her 
tingling indignation, her high bravado, she 
preferred not to face him alone just at 
present. She completed her toilette with 
hurrying, nervous fingers, and hastened 

Her uneasy thoughts skimmed a gamut 
of unpleasant surmises, but never did they 
reckon on his doing what he did do. She 
was pensively perusing a rising moon, but 
her dreamy pose was somewhat jarred by 
hearing an object slammed down hard on 
the porch-floor. She turned her head, and 
beheld her husband, in a dinner-coat as if 
ready for the dance ; but she saw, even in 
that dim light, that his emotional excitement 
far exceeded her own : he was pale, his eyes 
were burning, his jaw set, and his hands 
twitching. And why the suit-case ? — that 
untimely adjunct struck her as somehow 

" Why, Andy," she said, trying to make 
her tone light, " what on earth are you going 
to do with that suit-case ? " 

"I'm going to put it in the car." 

" The car ? " sincerely amazed. 

" Yes, the car," he replied, grimly. "I've 
telephoned for it." 

" Why, where are you going ? " forgetting 
to consider what would be the most advan- 
tageous tone to use. 

" Home," he replied, tersely. 


For a minute they gave each other stare 
for stare ; then she tried to laugh. 

" Don't be absurd ! " she said. 

" We've hardly time to discuss absurdities 
just now," he returned. " I'll be starting 
in about five minutes. If you care to go 
along, you'd better be getting some wraps 

Again she tried to laugh, but, looking at 
him there, white, stern-lipped, square-jawed 
in the moonlight, a frightened tremor ran 
over her. M This is war ! " she thought. 
But, not being one who accepted defeat 
easily, she swiftly altered her demeanour ; 
innocent, bewildered, amused astonishment 
gave way to open anger. 

" You're going too far — I won't stand 
this, you know." 

" Won't stand what ? " he inquired, 

" Your trying to make me look a fool — 
before my own relatives and friends." 

"It isn't I who have made you look a 
fool," he returned. " I've had to stand a 
few things myself — damned unpleasant 
things. But I'm at the end of it now. I'm 
going home to-night, and if you're wise 
you'll come along. That's straight." 

" You're a bully!" she exploded, with 
rising passion which couldn't cover up her 
own secret fear. " You're simply a bully ! 
What right have you to insult me like this ? " 

" Don't talk like a child. No one's more 
concerned about your dignity than I am — 
that's the trouble. I'm fool enough to feel 
it when I see you insulting yourself." 

Corinna stood aghast ; never had she 
dreamed that Andy, so kind, so gentle, so 
loving, could turn on her like this. She felt 
lost, at sea, not mistress of herself. 

Just then a familiar chug-chug was heard 
round the corner. 

" Here's the car," said Andy, coldly. 
" I'll give you five minutes to make up your 

As he picked up his suit-case and stalked 
down the steps, he was thinking — not too 
jubilantly : — 

" She's beaten ; she knows she's got to 
back down." 

But Corinna did not admit herself beaten 
yet. Miserable, heartsick, fearful but defiant, 
she turned back to her chair. Never, never, 
never would she give in ! 

It was then that Aunt Sarah, emerging 
from the shadows where she had kept 
unobtrusive and forgotten, approached the 
stiffened figure. 

" Don't do anything you'll regret, Corinna. 
It may seem hard — unfair and humiliating, 
but I think you'd better do as he says." 

" Never ! — never ! " 

" Don't go if you don't want to, dear. 
But I think it s now or never." 


Dana Gatlin 

Corinna couldn't resist a quick, startled 
upward glance. 

" I mean," Aunt Sarah went on, earnestly, 
*' that if you don't go now, you won't go 
until you ask to go. And you'll find that 
even harder than thfis." 

Corinna still stared up with that startled 
expression, mute, trembling, terrified. 

" You see," continued Aunt Sarah, " for 
all he seems so easy-going and compliant, 
Andy would be like rock once he set his 
mind. He'll be starting in a minute. He 
will start — make no mistake about that. 
Those eyes of yours have got about every- 
thing you've ever wanted, but they won't 
help you now. Andy hasn't that jaw for 

" But — my trunks " temporized 

Corinna, sobbingly, angrily, fearfully, 

•' I'll send them on. Run for a wrap/' 

Corinna ran. 

AT any normal time, and as a disinterested 
^-^ onlooker, Corinna could have laughed 
at the absurd spectacle they must have 
presented starting out on that long trip : 
the man at the wheel in his dinner-coat, the 
woman rigidly beside him in a pink taffeta 
frock under her coat, and on her head a silly 
little cap-thing such as women, that summer, 
wore over their evening coiffures. But 
Corinna, as you can imagine, was in no mood 
for laughter. Then, to her mental sufferings 
physical discomfort gradually added itself; 
she grew chilly. But she'd have died rather 
than tell Andy she was cold ; rather than 
address one word to him till he spoke first. 
But Andy gave no indication of speaking. 
Mute, stern, immovable, he humped there 
over the steering-wheel, his eyes fixed on the 
ro^ri ahead. 

They had not exchanged one word when, 
inthe bright sunlight of a glorious morning, 
they climbed from their cramped positions 
and — still in pink taffeta and dinner-coat — 
entered a wayside hotel. 

At the desk Andy asked for two rooms. 

"' You'd better order yourself some break- 
fast," he said, as they went upstairs. Those 
were the first words that had been spoken. 

Corinna hadn't the faintest notion she 
ever could eat again, but she'd have choked 
to death rather than not have an item for 
her breakfast on Andy's bill — a good stag- 
gering item, too ! She was glad the laden 
tray was on view when there came a knock 
at the door and Andy appeared. He was 
carrying a tailored dress. 

" I put this in my suit-case," he informed 
hei briefly. " You'd better buy yourself a 
hat somewhere while I'm seeing to the car." 

She didn't reply. 

" Have you any money ? " he asked. 

It happened that she had none— of course 

he knew she wouldn't have I — but she was 
resolved not to speak. 

He tossed a few notes on the bureau. 
She longed to toss them back at him, but 
the picture of herself riding in daylight in 
that ridiculous little lace cap restrained 

" Please try to be ready within an hour," 
he said, and left the room. 

All that day they rode without speech. 
Her emotions to Corinna seemed to be 
burning her up. Ceaselessly her mind ran 
round the circle of his initial fault, his 
injustice, his callousness, his cruelty. That 
he could subject her to such torture — — ^- 

Meanwhile, Andy, attending mechanically 
to the business of driving, was doing some 
feeling and thinking of his own.^ He would 
never be able to understand completely that 
mad, shamed, but resistless impulse which 
had driven him to pick up the downstairs 
receiver. Somewhat better he understood 
the sudden rage, when he overheard her 
planning to carry on her flirtation before the 
very ayes of her husband — even making light 
of him to that smirking nincompoop ! — 
which had lifted him up into almost an alien 
personality. He hardly recognized himself 
in the stonily furious being who had ascended 
Aunt Sarah's stairs and gone about donning 
the polite evening garb of ultra-civilized 
males. It was, in fact, while he was putting 
on his dress waistcoat that, all in a flash, it 
came to him what to do : the resolution, 
born full-grown in a second, as Minerva 
sprang full-armed from the brow of Jupiter, 
to carry her away, willy-nilly, from this 
accursed spot at once. 

Even after he had proved his domination 
— the proper though harsh domination of the 
superior and outraged male — his cold wrath 
did not abate. It rode with him in the 
driver's seat throughout that interminable 
night. It re-entered the car with him after 
the stop for breakfast — and the hat. He 
ruminated sourly, grimly. He had van- 
quished her, as should be. The very costume 
she now wore, that blue serge, was a token ; 
the appropriate headgear, bought with his 
money she must perforce accept, wa£ another. 
Her mere presence was proof superlative. 
Yes ; she might be indignant, sullen, even 
on the verge of tears^but she was there. 

It was somewhere in the middle of the 
forenoon that his harsh reflections of the 
conqueror began subtly to change colour*. 
It would be hard to say precisely what 
brought about this gradual softening. 

Of course he mustn't unbend too quickly ; 
there were a lot of things that needed ex- 
plaining — she had been in the wrong, and she 
must justify herself to him of her own accord. 
And he must maintain his prestige. But 
there was such a thing as driving a woman tco 



The Eves Have It 

hard ; he didn't want ever to get 
in the way of playing the brute 
to Corinna. And she, for all her 
provocativeness and baffling per- 
versities, was just a delicate, 
feminine, loving little thing. 

At noon, when they stopped in 
a village hostelry for lunch — a 
very bad lunch— Andy went to 
telephone ahead for accommoda- 
tion for the coming night. But 
his order included certain " extras " 
which had nothing to do with bare 

That is how it happened, when 
Corinna t still rigid and silent, 
entered her room that evening, her 
nose and eyes were assailed by a 
fragrant, colourful bombardment ; 
a whole battalion of roses was 
formed there for a massed attack, 
Corinna paused stock-still for a 
minute, and then marched to a 
window, flung it up, and hurled 
the enemy into a crimson-streak- 
ing rout. 

And y , hes i t an tl . y , hope f ul 1 y , ope ned 
t he d oo r at t ha t mome n t . It seemed 
shfcjnust have thrown out some vital 
part of him also, such was his sudden 
sick void of disappointment; but he 
tried to look at his watch in an off- 
hand manner, 

" I thought we might have dinner 
served in our room," he went on. 
" It would be simpler." 

It was then that Corinna spoke, 
for the first time for nearly twenty-four hours 

" 1 prefer to eat alone/' she said. 

She turned to move; slowly, graceful ly, 
indifferently, toward her bathroom, Andy 
watched her until, just before she disap- 
peared, he made himself say :— 

" Just a minute, Corinna/* 

She turned. " What is it ? " 

He looked down into her eyes, those 
deep, innocent-looking eyes so deceiving 
in their softness. They could play the devil, 
those eyes ! They had played the devil 
with him. Had they played the devil with 
Woodie ? 

,f Did that fellow make love to you ? ,J he 
suddenly burst out, to his own surprise. 

She didn't trouble to answer. 

11 Well ? You know he did— whv not 
admit it ? " 

Still only that limpid, almost expression- 
less stare. 

" You know he did ! * J he reiterated, M He's 
that kind — one of those cads who go round 
making love to pretty women I " 

Corinna was, indeed, a pretty woman. 
Never had she seemed so lovely to him as at 
that minute, standing looking back at him, 

She turned. 

provocatively soft but indifferent, scarcely 
three feet away but separated from him by 
thousands of miles. And when a dreamy, 
reminiscent little smile touched her lips, 
stole into her eyes, it made her all the 
lovelier; but it made him want to shake 

M Oh, you needn't smile ! — you needn't 
think I'm complimenting you ! " he jeered. 
And then, compelled against his will, he 

dema i5fll?f$TY0F MICHIGAN 

Dana Gatlin 


What is it ? ' Did that fellow make love to you ? * he suddenly burst out/' 

" What were you doing all those weeks — 
dancing with him every night and sitting 
round in dark nooks, I suppose ? " 

And then, explosively ; — 

" Did he kiss you ? " 

She only smiled. 

" You shall answer me, by God ! Did he 
kiss you ? " 

Then, at last, she spoke, unemotionally : — 

"If you VI been willing to stay on at Pleasant- 
vtlle a little longer, you might have found 

out for yourself. 
You could have 
listened at the 
keyhole f or had a 
detectaphone in- 

"My God ! " 
he thought, "I'd 
like to take her 
by those shoulders 
and shake her! " 

That is what he 
thought ; but all 
lie did was to 
swing on his heel 
and bang the door 
behind him. 

In another 
room, forgetting 
that such a 
function as 
dinner existed, 
Andy sat with 
his head in his 
hands and viewed 
the situation. One 
minute he told 
himself that her 
conduct was con- 
temptible, and 
that he wouldn't 
forgive her until 
she came crawling 
on knees of ex- 
planation and 
repentance. The 
next minute he 
wo n dered w bet her 
he had driven her 
to a false stand 
by his h i g b- 

He felt sure 
that fundamen- 
tally she loved 
him ; that affair, 
or whatever it 
was, with the 
Woodie whipper- 
snapper was just 
some bit of fool- 
ishness brought 
about by idleness, propinquity, and such, 
She certainly owed him a fair explana- 
tion ; but he'd probably driven her too 
hard — Corinna couldn't stand that kind of 

Then, whether after minutes or hours he 
did not know, he rose ; calling himself an 
idiot, he moved towards the door. 

He didn't know what he was going to say 
to her — she could be verv " difficult " on 


The Eyes Have It 

diffidently, eagerly, he knocked, and opened 
her door, with what he did say. 

" Corinna, darling," he blurted out, " I've 
been a fool ! " 

Now Couinna had been spending those 
minutes — or hours — in a manner no happier 
than his own. After he had banged the 
door behind him, she had promptly flung 
herself on the bed to weep. 

At first her sobs were a convulsive out- 
burst of all her pent-up humiliation, self-pity, 
and frantic revolt. But, as her violent 
emotion exhausted itself, a more quiescent 
but bitter melancholy took its place. To 
such depths had their love, once seeming so 
beautiful and enduring, finally descended. 
They had had a " scene." He who had once 
represented for her all that is gentle and 
solicitous and adoring had shouted at her. 
He had deliberately, wantonly, cruelly brow- 
beaten her. 

But, even while she shuddered, in retro- 
spect and dreadful anticipation, a curious, 
wavering, compelling admiration for his over- 
riding masculine brutality rose up in her. 
No ; Andy would never accept any tom- 
foolery with complacence. However, she 
reflected with tearful satisfaction that she 
had given him back blow for blow. She 
thought of him slamming out of the room ; 
he wouldn't come bullying back in a hurry. 

Then a hideous supposition flashed across 
her mind : suppose he didn't come back ? 
What^was it Aunt Sarah had said about 
square- jawed men when aroused ? What if 
he were aroused to the point where he'd 
never make another overture ? For those 
roses had been an overture, and hastily, un- 
thinkingly, she had rebuffed it. Had she 
been too impulsive, tried him too far ? 
Already he might be on his way home. It 
wasn't like Andy to leave her stranded in an 
hotel, but his whole recent performance had 
been utterly unlike the kind, patient Andy 
she had always known. What might he not 
be doing now ? She had played up against 
that square jaw too far. What was it Aunt 
Sarah had said ? — something about her eyes 
usually getting her what she wanted, but 
that they wouldn't help now. 

Outside, the light of the long summer 
evening was failing ; the windows became 
blurred dim squares. There came a tapping 
on the door, and, grateful for the gloom, 
Corinna hastily dried her eyes ; despite a 
surge of her heart she thought it must be a 
maid, and didn't reply, hoping the servant 
would go away. 

But there was the sound of a handle turn- 
ing — Corinna shut her eyes — of the door 
softly opening. 

And then, a voice, of nervous gruffness : — 

" Corinna, darling, I've been a fool ! " 

Her heart then gave such a plunge and 

flight as she didn't know was possible ; but 
she controlled her voice — equably, sweetly, 
amusedly, tenderly, she murmured : — 

" You have been, dear — an atrocious, 
fiendish, darling fool. Come closer so I can 
forgive you." 

And when, obeying, he started to mutter, 
" Then you didn't /' she interrupted him. 

" Of course I didn't— didn't anything. But 
let's not talk about that now. We can 
explain later. Anyway, in this funny, blind, 
mixed-up world of humans, things are often 
hard to explain — even to oneself." 

Which observation Andy, with Corinna in 
his arms and peace thereby mysteriously in 
his soul, did not then attempt to refute. 
Anyhow, it was a perfectly true observation ; 
Corinna had her moments of wisdom. Yet 
she might have been heard, scarcely a minute 
later, voicing a preposterous statement. 

She had, as Andy bent to kiss her, suddenly 
burst into tears — an entirely different, not 
very unhappy, kind of weeping. With con- 
trition ineffable he sought to soothe her, in- 
wardly berating himself for his monstrosity 
toward this fragile, sensitive little feminine 
thing who had entrusted herself to his keep- 
ing. He held her close till the reactionary 
spasm had passed, and then he murmured : — 

" We'll never let anything like this happen 
again, will we, darling ? " 

It was then that she voiced her prepos- 
terous remark : — 

" No, we'll never misunderstand each other 
again." She said it as though convinced 
her statement held the last shred of truth — > 
not to mention probability. 

PRESENTLY Andy bethought himself of 
the belated dinner, and moved cheerfully 
to the telephone. 
Corinna watched him with a serene smile 
which covered a certain gently triumphant 
trend of thought. He had come back to her. 
It was he who had made the definite over- 
ture for reconciliation — despite what Aunt 
Sarah had said. To be sure, he had bullied 
her somewhat, but then he did have an 
amount of justification ; she didn't think 
she'd care for a man who could act tamely 
in such circumstances. It all only proved 
he loved her ; and she loved him, too. He 
ought to know, the goose, that all other men 
didn't count a fig's worth to her. They 
didn't ; she never wanted to take part in a 
cheap little flirtation again — sufficient to 
know she could attract men if she wanted to. 
But she didn't want to. All that nonsense 
Was past. She wanted only her Andy — her 
kind, clumsy, uncomprehending, adoring and 
adored Andy. And she didn't mind his 
being square- jawed in the least ; that quality 
was admirable, and she could manage it all 
right — despite what Aunt Sarah had said. 






QUINNEY gazed lovingly at a silver 
cup which stood upon his desk. 
The marks were almost obliterated 
but not quite. With the aid of a 
pocket lens he could make out a " C," and 
the lion's head erased, and the figure of 
Britannia. These were enough to date the 
cup exactly. It had been made in 1718. 
Of far deeper interest was the maker's mark 
— LA surmounted by a cross and crown and 
with the fleur-de-lys below. 

" It's a Paul Lamerie right enough," 
muttered the dealer. 

And no vandal of a later period had 
touched it. 

Quinney 's lips watered at sight of it. 
This, in his opinion, was a * gem of purest 
ray serene." The cup had two handles and 
a top. The dealer ran his fingers over the 
sharp edges of the acanthus leaves upon the 

" What a craftsman," he thought. 

Nevertheless he frowned as he gloated 
over it. 

Queer objects are brought to famous 
dealers by queer people and at queer times. 
Some of the dealers ask questions ; some 
don't. But, in the trade generally, it is 
admitted, not without reluctance, that 
questions ought to be asked and answered 
satisfactorily. Upon the previous evening a 

Frenchman had drifted into the Soho Square 
establishment, carrying a box. He had 
shown the cup to Quinney and, amazing 
fact, had left it with him. This might be a 
tribute to Quinney's reputation or merely 
a carefully considered ruse to establish con- 
fidence. But the Frenchman, who spoke 
English perfectly, had given another reason. 

" I am staying at an hotel, Mr. Quinney. 
You have a safe. The cup will be more 
secure in your custody." 

Is it yours ? " asked Quinney. 

'* Yes — it is mine. Your name was men- 
tioned to me as a dealer to be trusted. I 
thought you might like to buy the cup or to 
sell it for me on commission." 

The owner of the cup spoke with suave 

Quinney was slightly puzzled. Occasionally 
he bought and sold valuable plate, but he 
dealt as a rule in furniture and porcelain, 
not disdaining, however, miniatures and 
pictures. He said, curtly : — 

11 Why didn't you go to one of the big 
silversmiths ? " 

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. 

" But I don't know your big silversmiths. 
A friend of mine gave me your name. 
Voilh ! " 

As he spoke he laid a thin card upon the 

" Your card ? " asked Quinney. 

Copyright, 1021, by Horace Annta ley Vaoh ell. 


The Paul Lamerie Cup 

The Frenchman smiled. 

" Perfectly ; it is mine." 

" If you leave the cup with me, you will 
want a receipt, eh ? " 

" That is quite unnecessary. I will do 
myself the pleasure of calling again to- 
morrow, at eleven. By that time, Monsieur, 
you will, perhaps, have satisfied yourself in 
regard to the value of the cup." 

Smilingly, he withdrew. 

Upon the card, in small script, was in- 
scribed : — 

Le Marquis de Chantal. 

And in the corner of the card, Cercle Royal. 

Now Quinney had a good friend and 
patron, the Marquess of Mel, who happened 
to be in London at his house in St. James's 
Square. After his Gallic visitor had gone 
Quinney rang up that noble and puissant 
prince, and had a reassuring chat with him 
over the telephone. Lord Mel did not know 
Monsieur de Chantal, but he knew of him. 
He was the head of an ancient family, long 
established in La Vendue, and well known in 
Paris. It was quite likely that he possessed 
a Paul Lamerie cup, and he might wish to 
dispose of it quietly. Lord Mel concluded : 
" French plate fetches a ridiculous price in 
London, and it is probable that English plate 
is much undervalued in Paris." 

Quinney thanked his kind patron for this 
enlightening information. 

NEXT morning, when he examined the 
cup, he came to the conclusion that 
nothing out of the ordinary had taken 
place. Paul Lamerie had been the famous 
silversniith of his day. He had worked, it is 
true, most of his life in London, but some 
of his masterpieces must have been bought 
by Frenchmen. An ancestor of the Marquis 
had bought the cup which an impoverished 
descendant wished to sell. To get the 
biggest price for so beautiful a specimen, 
it might have been wiser to put it up at 
Christie's. But that meant a publicity from 
which Monsieur de Chantal might shrink. 

Quinney waited for him with impatience. 

At eleven punctually the gentleman 
presented himself. 

" Well," he asked, " what do you think 
of it ? " 

" It's a very handsome cup," said Quinney, 
cautiously, -l and it weighs nearly a hundred 
ounces, Troy." 

" Do you care to buy it ? " 

" What do you ask for it, my lord ? " 

He was not quite sure whether a mere 
French marquis should be so addressed, but 
he deemed it expedient to be on the safe 

" What do I ask ? But I leave that to 
you. To set a price, I mean. Then I can 

take your money or — or take away the cup. 
It's a valuable piece of plate, but I have no 
expertise in your English plate. I come to 
you because my friends tell me you are to be 

Quinney looked slightly disconcerted. 
Such awkward exigencies were not altogether 
new to him. And if he named too low a 
figure this aristocratic gentleman might 
smile sweetly, shake his handsome head, and 
vanish with the cup. But he had made up 
his mind what the cup was worth to him, and 
it was possible that the Marquis had other 
objects of vcrtu which he might bring to a 
trustworthy dealer. 

" I'll give you five hundred pounds, not 
a penny more or less. But if I buy it I hope 
to get much more, you understand. I shall 
hang on to it till I do. That's my way of 
doing business, my lord. Sooner or later a 
customer comes along who pays my figure. 
Till then I have the pleasure of looking at a 

" I quite understand. For family reasons, 
Mr. Quinney, I do not wish to put my cup 
up at Christie's." 

At this moment the telephone bell tinkled 

" Please excuse me," said Quinney. 

Monsieur de Chantal bowed. Quinney 
picked up the receiver and placed it to his 
ear. A second later he said, with marked 
deference : — 

'* The Duke of Bellingham has asked if 
you are here, my lord. His Grace wishes to 
speak to you." 
>-Ah, yes ; I told him to ring me up." 

Quinney then listened to the following : — 

" Is that you, my dear Bellingham ? It 
is de Chantal speaking. . Yes. I will lunch 
with you at Claridge's, with pleasure. What ? 
No, no — quite impossible. I'm returning to 
Paris to-night. Bon t A tout-h-Vheure ! " 

He hung up the 'phone and turned politely 
to Quinney. 

" Very many thanks," he murmured. 
" What were we talking about ? Ah ! the 
cup, to be sure. You offer me five hundred. 
I will take your cheque on one condition : 
you will not make public the fact that I — I " 
— he slightly emphasized the personal 
pronoun — " have teen compelled to part 
with my beloved cup. I have others, and it 
will hardly be missed at home, still " 

His pleasant voice melted upon a silence. 
Quinnev nodded. 

" That's quite all right." 

The cheque was duly made out, and a 
receipt signed. The Frenchman left the 
sanctuary. From the Georgian windows, 
Quinney could see him step into a smart car. 

" A good morning's work," said Quinney 
to himself, as he sat down to enjoy full 
possession of the IPaul Lamerie cup. 


Horace Annesley Vachell 


" Qutnney then listened to the following : ' Is thai you, my dear Bellingham ? It is 
de Chantal speaking. Yes. 1 will lunch with you at Qaridge's, with pleasure.* ' 

by OGOgle 



The Paul Lamerie Cup 


HE was still admiring the superlative 
craftsmanship when Susan, his wife, 
came bustling into the sanctuary. 
Since the marriage of her daughter, Mrs. 
Quinney had interested herself in " waifs 
and "strays," creatures of flesh and blood, 
in salient contrast to what she stigmatized 
as " sticks and stones " — the things " 
beloved by the famous dealer. 

" Look at that, Susie ! " 

Mrs. Quinney eyed the cup with malevo- 
lence. After long and sad experience, she 
was well aware that a new " first favourite " 
had just been enthroned in her lord's affec- 
tions. Nevertheless, being a discreet woman, 
with an object in view that justified dis- 
simulation, she said, pleasantly : — 

" I am looking at it. You didn't get that 
given away with a packet o' tea, did you ? " 

" I paid five hundred pounds for it, old 

" And what will you sell it for, Joe ? " 

" Maybe it's not for sale." 

" Another idol, I suppose ? " 

" You're as near right as a woman can be. 
Makes me feel a younger and better man just 
to pass my fingers over it." 

He caressed it lovingly as he spoke. 
Susan sniflEed and then smiled. 

" I want some money out of you, Joe, for 
my Rags and Tatters Home. If you're 
really feeling younger and better, and better/* 
she repeated, " you can afford to be 

" I sha'n't grudge a pound or two," said 
Quinney, superbly. 

" A pound or two ! I want fifty pounds, 
Joe. That's a tenth of the profit you mean 
to make on that cup." 

" Fifty pounds ! Dotty, you are ! " 

" Yes — we're two of a land. You go 
crazy over graven images ; I'm dotty, as 
you put it, over kiddies." 

" Queen o' beggars, by Gum ! " 

" Write me a nice cheque, Joe, and I won't 
bother you again for ever so long." 

" For how long, Mrs. Stand-and-deliver ? " 

" Not till next month, Joe." 

" And this is the twenty-ninth. It's a 
Paul Lamerie cup, old dear." 

" Never heard of him." 

" I dessay not." Quinney chuckled. 
" And the noble owner as was never heard of 
him neither." 

" Noble owner ? " 

" French marquis ! " 

" A Frenchy ? I hope he came by it 
lawfully, Joe." 

" Friend o' the Duke o' Bellingham. And a 
perfect gentleman. I ain't to be flim-flammed 
by rogues/ my girl. You can trust me." 

" You h&ve been had, Joe." 

" When I was young and green, Susie. 

Now — you off it, and, perhaps, I'll give you 
a fiver." 

Quinney locked up the cup and betook 
himself to Christie's. In the rooms he 
found, as he expected, an expert on plate, 
who displayed enthusiasm when he heard of 
the Paul Lamerie two-handled cup. Indeed, 
his interest was so challenged that he ex- 
pressed a wish to see it. 

" You can see it," said Quinney, " and 
we'll have a bite of the best ham in London 

" What did you fork out for it, Joe ? " 

" Ah ! You can make a guess at that after 
you've looked at the beauty." 

They walked back to Soho Square, dis- 
coursing at length upon treasure-trove and 
values. -- r -, 

As soon as the cup was taken from the 
safe, the expert congratulated Quinney 
*K)lemnly, affirming that he had never beheld 
a finer specimen or one in better preservation. 

4 Where on earth did you find it ? " 

Quinney told the tale with gusto. The 
expert nodded. 

" I can lay hands on a collector who'll give 
you a whacking profit." 

Quinney betrayed uneasiness. 

" I can't bear the thought of selling it," 
he muttered. 

Upon the cup was exquisitely engraved a 
coat of arms, with supporters, surmounted by 
a coronet. The expert said, with authority : — 

"That's an English coat, Joe, with a 
ducal coronet." 

" And what of it ? " asked Quinney. 

11 Nothing, but if you have a Peerage 
handy, we'll find out who owned the cup 
before it went to France." 

" I have an old Peerage," said Quinney. 

" The older the better ; you fetch it." 

Within five minutes the expert said, 
triumphantly : — 

" We've the whole thing here. This cup 
was made for the second Duke of Bellingham, 
and the aunt of the present duke married a 
Marquis de Chantal. Probably the cup was 
a wedding gift. You're in big luck, Joe. I 
don't mind telling you now that I didn't quite 
like your yarn about a Frenchman drifting in 
here with that cup. It sounded a bit fishy. 
And then his being rung up by the Duke of 
Bellingham. I shied at that, too. But your 
duke and marquis are cousins. Probably 
the duke told the young man to go to you." 

" More'n likely," assented Quinney. " I've 
. told Susan again and again that a reputation 
for honesty is my biggest asset. Now — let's 
tackle the ham." 


AFTER luncheon two large cigars were 
smoked leisurely, and then Quinney 
found himself once more alone with 

^ cu SNr^felW^Ffc^. Iock UxA Mel 


Horace Annesley Vachell 


appeared. Quinney was not surprised. His 
kind patron often dropped in for a friendly 
chat, and he, too, was a connoisseur of old 
silver. J . . * ; 

" I have come to tell you more about the 
Marquis de Chantal." ) 

, " You are very kind, my lord." * 

; ",I am feeling slightly uneasy.'* > - - 

\ "Uneasy ? "-".-. 
> " He is not in London." 
t" t Cold* shivers meandered up and down 
Quiririey's spine. • j , 

• " Not in London ! " he gasped. 
t/'No; he, is, a sad cripple, a martyr to 
arthritis. " He has not left his ch&teau in 
La Vendee for more than a year. A friend of 
mine at my club told me this after luncheon 
to-day, and fearing that something might be 
wrong I hastened here to you." 

"How old is the Marquis de Chantal, my 
lord? " .- 
. " Over sixty, I should say." 

" The young man who sold me the cup 
asked for a cheque. Ought I to stop that 
cheque ? " 

" " Most assuredly — if you can." 
. But, alas ! within a few minutes word 
canle from the bank, over the 'phone, that 
a phejque signed by Joseph Quinney made 
payable to bearer had been cashed at five- 
and-twenty minutes to twelve that morning. 

" You made it payable to bearer ? " asked 
Lord Mel. 

"He asked me to do so. And — and a 
few minutes before he had been talking over 
my 'phone with the Duke of Bellingham." 

" Who is shooting in Westmorland, as I 
happen to know." 

" I've been done," groaned Quinney, 
" crisp as a biscuit. The cup belonged to the 
second Duke of Bellingham. And an aunt 
of the present duke married the Marquis de 
Chantal. It's all in Burke, my lord." 

" The cup, Quinney, must have been 
stolen. Probably by a clever rogue of a 
servant, who knew about the Bellingham 
connection and used his knowledge to good 
purpose. I can only suggest calling in the 
police at once." 

" That means labelling myself as the 
biggest mug in the trade." 

" It goes without saying that the cup will 
be missed and eventually claimed." 

" I don't keep stolen goods, my lord. You 
know that." 

" Everybody knows it, my dear fellow." 

Lord Mel went away. Quinney sent for a 
particular friend of his, a private detective. 


THE private detective looked like a 
prosperous suburban dentist. His 
eyes were mistily blue ; he moved 
slowly ; indeed, he was the last man to 

Vol. lxii —2. 

Digitized by V^OOQIC 

challenge attention in any company, which 
may have accounted for his success in an 
arduous profession. . ; 

• He listened pensively to. Quinney 's story, 
askings no questions tillJ the. dealer had 
finished. Then he grasped the tale firmly. 

" Let me see the receipt." :- '. *: ■ ■ • 

John Williams looked -long and hard at 
the. signature of R6n6 de Chantal. \ 

" Not a first offence," he murmured. 

"Hay?" _- 

"He "has signed his master's name before. 
I accept unreservedly Lord MelVhypothesis. 
Only a \ trusted servant .could have had 
access to such" a valuable piece of plate. 
If the Marquis . de Chantal is an * invalid, 
probably he doesn't entertain.' . Such a cup 
might, presumably, be stolen and not missed 
for a long time. A; servant could have 
possessed himself of the visiting-card. A 
servant would have known of the Belling- 
ham connection. He spoke, you say, perfect 
English. It is quite likely that he is 

Mr. Williams relapsed into silence, whilst 
Quinney groaned. 

' Let me see the visiting-card, Mr. 

After careful inspection of the card, the 
oracle spoke again : — 

" The card is genuine enough." 

" Anybody can have a card printed." 

" Pardon me ! This is a highly glazed 
card, beautifully engraved. We are dealing 
with no common thief. He may have stolen 
other articles of value, and he came to 
London — the best market. Describe his 
appearance to me as accurately as you can." 

Quinney did so. Mr. Williams rose. 

" I will report in an hour's time." 

" He said he was returning to Paris 

" I have made a mental note of that." 

Left alone, Quinney summoned the faithful 
Susan. In no uncertain terms he bewailed 
his unhappy lot. 

" Down and out I am, Susie. Time I 
retired ! Five hundred of the best ! " 

" But, Joe, you have the cup." 

" Ho ! That's a good 'un from a regular 

" You paid the money for it and it's 

" No, it ain't, Mrs. Smarty. I've my 
reputation to think of. Lord Mel and others 
knows all about the cup. There'll be a rare 
hullabaloo when it's missed." 

" Maybe Mr. Williams will catch him." 

" Not an unborn puppy's chance o' that." 

Susan said, obstinately : — 

" I says the cup's yours, Joe." 

" Go it ! Keep on a-sayin' it ! You have 
the morals of your waifs and strays, you 
have. But I'll" tell you this, Mrs. Stolen 



The Paul Lamerie Cup 

Goods : it isn't the loss o' the money that 
mads me. I can get that back by refusing 
to weigh in to your charities. No ; it's 
bein' done, it's bein' had. And the Pressil 
get hold of it. That fair tears me, old lass." 

" No ; it's losing the cup tears you, Joe. 
You'd sooner lose me, yes, you would." 

14 What a tale ! " 

" You'd have worshipped the golden calf 
if Paul What's-his-name had made it." 

Quinney scowled at her. 

44 I sent for you, Susan Quinney, because 
I wanted sympathy. That seemin'ly is not 
on tap. Now, I'll have a glass o' brown 

44 Drink the poison out o' that precious 
cup, I would." 

* 4 Right you are, Mrs. Pussyfoot. I will." 

And with Susan's disdainful eye upon him 
he did. 

IN less than the appointed hour Mr. 
Williams returned, but his face betrayed 

neither hope nor despair as he said, 
quietly : — 

44 The man who sold you that cup has not 
left London, Mr. Quinney." 

44 Ho ! Maybe you can take me to him. 
And then " 

4 ' And then ? " 

The muscles of Joe Quinney were con- 
tracted as he replied, savagely : — 

44 I'd like to hit him one on the jaw. His 
' jaw ' did me in. But you're a fair marvel, 
you are. How did you find him, hay ? 
And where ? " 

44 I told you that he was no common 
thief." Quinney nodded. 44 For example, 
he hired a smart car. You seem to have 
hired a smart office-boy." 

44 That's me. I always get the best." 

44 Your office-boy noticed the car and its 

44 Did he ? That boy '11 have his salary 

44 I found out where the car came from, 
because the chauffeur wore a livery adopted 
by a firm that lets out smart cars to smart 

44 By Gum ! They ought to let out cars to 
you for nothing." 

!' It seems," continued Mr. Williams, 
impassively, " that this car was hired by 
your man and sent to the hotel where he is 
stopping. He is there now. And he is 
leaving for Paris — so I understand — to- 

" Not if I know meself," exclaimed 
Quinney. He jumped up, afire with excite- 
ment. " Come on, old lad. It's in me to 
down him harder than he downed me." 

41 Just so. A taxi is waiting for us down- 

by L^OOgle 

" Where is the hotel ? " asked Quinney. 

Mr. Williams named a quiet, old-fashioned 
hotel not far from St. James's Street. Upon 
the way thither, he added a few details. 
The youn£ man had registered as R6n6 de 
Chantal. The people at the hotel had no 
suspicion that he was other than what he 
represented himself to be. He had arrived 
the day before from Paris. He had asked 
the manager of the hotel to provide a good 
car ; he was occupying a sitting-room, with 
bed and bathroom attached. 

" He has, of course, an accomplice," said 
Mr. Williams. 4< The person who 'phoned 

44 Two jail-birds at one shot," said 
Quinney. His hair bristled ; his eyes 

44 You enjoy a scrap ? " asked Mr. Williams. 

" You bet ! Don't you ? " 

" No ; I have had too many of 'em." 

" An old campaigner, hay ? Well, what's 
the plan ? Frontal attack, what ? " 

" My inquiries have been discreet," 
affirmed Mr. Williams. " No suspicions have 
been aroused. If our man is at home, we 
will have a quiet word with the manager 
before we attempt " 

" Violence," exploded Quinney. 

" There will be no necessity, I hope, for 
violence. You want your money back." 

" I want more than that, my lad." 

" What else ? " 

" If we cop him fair and square, and land 
him in jail, it will be the finest kind of 
' ad.' for me." 

" As your confidential adviser, Mr. 
Quinney, I may point out to you that your 
first objective should be the recovery of the 

" We'll have that first." 

" Or what is left of it." 

" He ain't had time to blow-in much. I 
dessav he's looking forward to a beano in 

" Possibly. His accomplice is a woman." 

" What you say ? " 

" She is staying at the hotel as his wife." 

Quinney assimilated this fresh information 
in stupefied silence. The taxi sped down a 
side street and stopped. 

" Here we are," said Mr. Williams. " We 
will interview the manager first." 

Quinney, mopping a fevered brow, followed 
his confidential adviser into a snug hall. A 
page ushered them into the presence of the 
manager. Very curtly and lucidly the facts 
in the case were stated by Mr. Williams. 

After absorbing them, the manager said, 
deprecatingly : — 

44 The gentleman and his wife are upstairs 
now, having tea. This is a quiet hotel for 
quiet people. If — if matters could be 

arranged — quietlv ? .". 

Original from 


Horace Annesley Vachell 




" Compoundin' a 

The manager shrugged his shoulders, 
glancing interrogatively at the confidential 

" We don't know/' said Mr. Williams, 
lightly, " that this cup was stolen. This 
man may be acting for the real Marquis de 

" Then why does he steal his name ? " 
asked Quinney. " Anyway, let me see him, 
alone. You can be handy, Williams, in the 
bathroom, hay ? If this chap can satisfy 
me, there won't be any trouble, but," he set 
his square jaw, " I'll take a deal o' satisfy- 

" I will show Mr. Quinney into the sitting- 
room," said the manager. 

" Now you're talkin'." 

Quinney stood up, clenching his fists. 
The manager opened the door, and began to 
ascend the thickly-carpeted stairs. 

,f Announce me as Mr. Joseph Quinney, 

The sitting-room was on the first floor. 

" Mr. Joseph Quinney." 

QUINNEY found himself face to face 
with a sparkling brunette. The door 
of the sitting-room closed. The pseudo- 
marquis was not to be seen. Quinney stifled 
a groan, and silently cursed his confidential 
adviser. The sitting-room faced the street. 
Obviously, the bird, espying the taxi, had 
flown. The sparkling brunette, speaking with 
a French accent, said, graciously : — 

" Ah ! my hosband spoke to me of Mr. 
Quinnee. You will sit down, will you not, 
till he come ? " 

Quinney obeyed, thinking to himself : 
" I shall sit here for some time." However, 
he said, civilly : — 

" Your husband has gone out, Madame ? " 

" Oh, no. He is ver' busy packing. You 
will drink a cup o' tea, no ? " 

Quinney confessed afterwards to his Susan 
that he was " rattled." Susan immediately 
leapt to the conclusion that the accomplice 
was good-looking, which, indeed, happened 
to be true. Quinney put it that she had 
*' a way with her." 

He declined the cup of tea, and asked to 
see Madame *s has band. 

" You are in a hurry, Mr. Quinnee ? " 

** Not particularly, Madame, but " 

" Bon I Monsieur de Chantal knows that 
tea is here. He will be delighted to see you. 
You make — how you say ? — yes — an im- 
pression on my hosband. because you are so 
— so 'onest. I guess why you have come. 
You think we have other things, no ? — that 
perhaps we might wish to sell you." 

" Have you ? " asked Quinney, bluntly. 
He was now alert and more at his ease. And 

he had noticed that the lady had spoken in a 
lower tone of voice. 

" Alas I Yes. But you do not buy 
jewellery, hein ? " 

" I might," said Quinney, cautiously. 

The lady's voice became a whisper. 

" I have some emeralds, Mr. Quinnee, 
beautiful emeralds. My hosband would be 
angry eef I sold them, but, between us two, 
I want to sell my emeralds because we are so 
poor. And you are so 'onest that, perhaps, 
you will tell me of some man, also 'onest, 
who might buy my emeralds." 

Quinney nodded, hardly able to speak. 
The l4 ad." that would demonstrate to a 
wondering world that he was the cleverest 
as well as the honestest dealer in London 
flared in headlines before his eyes. He had 
the cup. By the exercise of a little tact he 
might get possession of the emeralds. 

" Can I see them, Madame ? " 

Madame smiled and lifted two pretty 
hands to her neck. From beneath what 
appeared to be a sable stole she unclasped a 
string of fine emeralds, which she handed 
confidingly to Quinney. He knew nothing 
about precious stones, but, if these were 
genuine, they must, he reckoned, be worth 
even more than the Paul Lamerie cup. He 
stared hard at them. As he did so, he 
heard what is called in stageland a " noise 

" Put them in your pocket," commanded 
Madame, in a hurried whisper. 

The astounded Quinney did so, as the 
husband of Madame entered the sitting-room 
from the bedroom. He advanced smilingly: — 

* Mr. Quinney ? This is a pleasant sur- 
prise. I am charmed to see you." 

Quinney replied doggedly. 

" It was a bit o' luck finding you in." 

As he spoke he glanced uneasily at 
Madame. He wanted to settle his account 
in full with Monsieur, but Madame was 
pouring out the tea, and smiling coquettishly 
at him, as much as to say : " We have a 
leetle secret between us, Mr. Quinnee, no ? " 

" Sit down and have a cup of tea." 

" Mr. Quinnee does not drink tea," said 
Madame ; M but perhaps, R6n6, you might 
tempt 'im with something stronger." 

"Nothing for me," replied Quinney, stoutly. 
Nevertheless he sat down, wondering what 
would happen next. The feel of the emeralds 
in his pocket fortified his resolution to play 
up and play the game. 

" You want to see me on business, Mr. 
Quinney ? " 

" Yes — business." 

" All in good time," murmured Madame. 

It is dreadful, isn't it, that we should have 
to do business on our honeymoon ? " 

" Honeymoon ? " repeated Quinney. 

" Yes ; we were married less than a week 



The Paul Lamerie Cup 

ago* You did not — how you say ? — spot us 
as honeymoonens, Mr. Quinnee ? 

Frankly, Madame; I never suspected it." 

" It is so nice of you to say that. But 
you are a nice man. That jumps to the 

Quinney moved uneasily in his chair. He 
failed to envisage this agreeable couple as 
jail- birds. And he had expected 
some indication of confusion. 
But Monsieur remained quite as 
cool as his charming wife, 

Monsieur said, quietly ;— 

" There is no reason, Mr. 
Quinney, why you shouldn't talk 
business before my wife. And 
your time, of course, is valuable/' 

" I'm up against the cleverest 
thieves in France," thought 
Quinney. He was glad that he 
had refused tea. Madame might 
have slipped something into it 
other than sugar or milk r 

,+ My time is my own/' growled 
Quinney, '" and has been for 
many a year/' 

" You do not regret buying the 
cup ? " 

" No/* 

f ' Tell me — how did you dis- 
cover this hotel ? Perhaps I had 
scribbled the address upon my 
card ? " 

,J I think you forgot to do 
that/' said Quinney, He con- 
tinued, gruffly: " I want a little 
more information about the cup. 
That coat of arms, now. T folmd 
it in Burke's peerage." 

"Perfectly. Does it detract 
from the value of the cup ? Pf 

" Not at all." 

M Then I don't quite under- 
stand > f 

'* You will — presently/* 

At this, Madame, being a 
woman of tact, got up, and so 
did Quinney. 

" I leave you to your business, 
but I return. I, too, wish to talk 
business with Mr, Quinnee/ ' 

Her husband opened the bed- 
room door for her. As she passed 
through it, she smiled at him inno- 
cently. In the long ago Susan 
had bestowed just such a smile 
upon her Joe, albeit he was red- 
headed and freckled. The smite 
left Quinney confounded. He* was apt 
to rush to conclusions ; and he decided 
instantly that this pretty Frenchwoman was 
not a thief but the victim of a thief, who had 
beguiled her — the rascal ! 

*' The game 

" Really ? What game ? " 

44 The game you are playing. I'll admit 
you're a player, but I'm not quite the damned 
fool you took me to be/' 

Monsieur lifted slightly supercilious brows, 

Quinney went on ; — 

" It would pay such a clever fellow as you 
are to be honest. I don't know much about 

v l 

h E^i^^©SO' 

14 Quinney moved uneasily in his chair. He (ailed 

of cod fusion. But 

French law, but in your country, I'm told, 
they 4 reconstruct * a crime/' 

94 You have not been misinformed. Pray 
go on ! " 

14 I can reconstruct this crime. You 
wanted to niatft§H 1"^ I §K&ttir # innocent girl* 


Horace Annesley Vachell 


and Joe Quinney is the last man to blame 
you for that. 1 ' 

" Thanks, So far you are correct," 
" Matrimony comes expensive since the 
war." Monsieur bowed. " And you hadn't 
saved much. It occurred to your thoughtful 
mind that a valuable cup not used for many- 
years wouldn't be missed, hay ? " 

" You are reconstructing this crime 

* 4 When you took the cup, you took some 

" Emeralds ? What can you know about 
the emeralds ? " 

" You don't deny that you took them ? " 

" I don't. What of it ? " 

to envisage this agreeable couple as jail-birds. And he had expected some indication 
Monsieur remained quite as cool as his charming wife*" 

" This is surprising, but perfectly true/' 

" You knew, also, that London was your 

" I did. ,J 

" So f one night, when nobody was about, 
you slipped the cup into your suit case/' 

by LiGOglC 

" I take 'my hat off to you as the coolest 
card IVe ever met. \*ou ought to be 
serving your country." 

" But I am, Mr. Quinney. And I hope to 
serve your country* too + " 

** You may/' satd Quinney, grimly* 
Original from 



The Paul Lamerie Cup 

" I confess/' said Monsieur, not so 
patiently, "that I'm utterly at a loss to 
understand you. You seem to take the 
most extraordinary and well-informed interest 
in my private affairs, which assuredly do not 
concern you. Your time, obviously, is not 
valuable, but mine is. I wish you good day, 
Mr. Quinney." 

" You're a cock o' the game," said Quinney, 
almost admiringly, " but if I leave this room 
before I've settled in full with you, the police 
will come in. Climb down, young feller, 
climb down." 

But, to his immense surprise, the ". young 
feller " burst into fits of uncontrollable 
laughter. When this had partially subsided, 
he crossed to the telephone, and spoke down 

" Please ring up the French Embassy for 

Then he turned, still laughing, to Quinney. 

" I perceive, Mr. Quinney, that this is a 
case of mistaken identity. When the French 
Embassy ring us up, I want you to ask them 
if they know the Marquis de Chantal, and 
the name of the hotel where he is staying in 
London. You may have to wait a few 

" The Marquis de Chantal is an old man, 
crippled with arthritis, who has not left his 
house for a year." 

11 Ah ! Light is coming to me. My father 
died three months ago. I have succeeded 
to a large and impoverished estate. I am 
also in the Diplomatic Service and hope to 
be attached to our Embassy here. If you 
are feeling as warm as you look, may I offer 
you a whisky-and-soda ? " 

" P-p-please," stammered Quinney. 


THE French Embassy " got through " 
before the whisky-and-soda, and the 
shame-faced Quinney was constrained 
by a still laughing Frenchman to ask 
the necessary questions. Then he said, 
hurriedly : — 

" I shall have to tell my wife about this, 
my lord, but don't tell yours." 

" T - ,-r - _-T_ >* 

1 agree. 

"I'd like to make a bolt of it before she 
comes back." 

The Marquis de Chantal held out his hand. 

" If you insist ! " 

Quinney moved to the door. And then he 
remembered the emeralds. 

" Her ladyship wanted to speak to me on 

" So she did. Wait ! " 

He opened the bedroom door and called to 
Madame, who appeared at once. 
. " I heard you laughing, R6n6. What was 
the joke ? " 

" Mr. Quinney was reconstructing a crime 
for me, but the criminal escaped, and so 
do I." 

Still laughing, he vanished. Quinney 
pulled out the emeralds and returned them 
to their owner. 

" You mustn't sell these, Madame. You 
can take it from me that your husband will 
be an Ambassador some day, and then you'll 
need 'em. I wish you both the best of 

For the second time Quinney moved to the 
door and paused. 

" Excuse the question, Madame, but did 
you lunch with the Duke of Bellingham at 
Claridge's to-day ? " 

" Yes, we did. But— why ? " 

" Nothing. I was told that his Grace 
was in Westmorland." 

" Yes ; but he came down to see us. My 
husband is his first cousin, you know." 

"I know," said Quinney, retreating swiftly. 
• He was rather " short " in explaining 
matters to Mr. Williams and the manager, 
but he had recovered his equanimity when 
he met Susan. After gratifying to the full 
a wife's curiosity, he observed, cheerfully : 
" All's well that ends well. The cup is mine, 
Susie, and it ain't for sale ! " 

He was standing in the sanctuary, with 
the lights full on, staring at the cup as he 
spoke. Susan slipped to his desk, and 
pulled out a cheque-book. 

" Now what are you up to ? " 

Susan opened the cheque-book, dipped a 
pen into the ink, and handed it coaxingly 
to her lord. 

" Make it fifty, Joe, and then nobody'll 
ever know." 

" Shut your eyes, old lass ! " 

She did so ; Quinney filled in the cheque, 
and slipped it into her hand. 

" Look ! " 

" Joe ! " 

" Yes ; man o' surprises I am. You 
didn't half know your luck when you 
married me." 

The cheque for the Waifs and Strays was 
filled in for a hundred pounds. 


^ Google 

Original from 



Tactic* are Half 
the Game* 

I HAVE been 
asked by the 
Editor of 
The Strand 
Magazine to make 
a few observations 
for the benefit of his 
readers on the tactics of 
lawn tennis. In consent- 
ing to do so one never- 
theless approaches this fas- 
cinating but rather difficult 
task in fear and 
trembling, for 
the simple 
reason that the 
projecting of a 
brain — however 
poor — -on to 
paper is not easy 
to one unaccus- 
tomed to do so. 
This is simply 

another way of saying that lawn tennis after 
a certain standard has been reached is 
largely played by and in the brain , and not 
only on the surface of a court divided into 
various geometrical divisions. In this con- 
nection I recall and make no apology for 
repeating the advice given by John Dowling, 
the racquet maker, to my old friend Major 
J. C* Parke, the great Irish player who, we 
a LI regret, has given up the game. " Always 
remember, " Dowling said, 4i that fifty per 
cent, of the game is played with the head, 
forty per cent, with the feet, and ten per 
cent, with the racquet." 

Given equal skill in stroke -product ion and 
consistency in returning the ball, the man who 
uses his head will usually win. The writer's 
present aim, therefore, ^s to express a few 
ideas as to how the brain can be brought to 
bear upon the game of lawn tennis through 
the medium of what is commonly known as 
tactics, The trouble, is of course, that much 
tactical work is unconscious, being in fact 
the subconscious result of a long experience 
of strenuous tussles with a great variety of 
opponents — good p bad t tricky, wily, and 
indifferent Readers must, therefore, forgive 
ine if i^^reniarks are somewhat rambling 
and rather personal in character. Tactics 
is not after all an exact science which can be 
reduced to mathematical terms, although a 


knowledge of angles 
is a considerable 
asset to the lawn- 
tennis player. 

Tactic* of the 

Having thus un- 
burdened my mind with 
these few F introductory and 
preliminary platitudes, I 
may as well point out right 
away that start 
with the service, and can 
in fact be divided 
into (a) tactics as 
regards the ser- 
vice and (b) tac- 
tics when the ball 
is once in play. 
It has been my 
experience that 
in the long run 
the very fast or 
lightning service 
does not always pay the server, A very 
fast delivery with kick and screw T either 
way is difficult to achieve with consistent 
accuracy. The strain on the muscles of 
the arm and back apparently has a most 
telling and prejudicial effect upon the stay- 
ing powers of the server, and the player 
with a service of this description who 
' J lives " ten years or more is an exception, 
vide Norman Brookes. Moderate servers, 
on the other hand, would seem to live 
long, playing for twenty years and upwards, 
and providing really good lawn tennis at 
that. Year in and year out, if you aim to 
be anything more than a rocket at the 
game, the medium to slow-paced service — 
as affected by S. N, Doust — well placed with 
a very low trajectory, is the most paying, to 
my way of thinking. There is little bodily 
exertion, for one thing, which means much 
energy conserved, while if you judge the 
pace correctly one should be within two or 
three feet of the net when the return is made, 
(I am referring now more particularly to 
doubles than singles-) It is very difficult 
indeed to win a point outright from a slow 
service if the server be sitting on the net 
within a second or so of the strikcr-out 
hitting the ball. The bringing into play, 
however, of a fast service — if possible down 
the centre-line, especially if you are serving 
Original from 


Lawn Tennis Tactics 

The late H. L. DOHERTY, the finest all-round player, 
according to the author, which the game has produced* 

from the left-hand court — at a crucial 

moment in any game is a very valuable 

tactical move. I have won many aces with 

it against men who were generally 

upon their toes. Don't, however, 

make a hobby of this little device, 

but save it up till you want a 

point ever so badly- The element 

of surprise is alone enough to 

defeat your opponent, quite apart 

from the almost certain mistiming 

of the delivery consequent upon 

its increased pace. 

In making the above points one 
has rather had doubles in mind, 
but, in the main, these tactics 
apply to singles also. The 
main thing after all is to find 
out the weaknesses of your 
opponent. Those 
of us who occa- 
sionally play in 
know the failings 
and foibles of 
most of the 
regular com- 
petitors. It is only when you are 
called upon to play a new-comer 
to " the silver ring " on about the 
same level of skill as yourself that 
the problem becomes acute. I re- 
member , for instance, being 
called upon to play Maurice 
Mclaughlin when he first ar- 
rived at Wimbledon fresh from 
the States, with a great repu- 
tation for fiery serving and 
deadly killing. 

A Great Game witli McLoughlin. 
There was a lot of talk, I 
n member, in the pavilion at 
Wimbledon on the day the 
draw for the singles was made 
as to what this young American 
could, might, and probably 
would do. Strange as it may 
seem, several wags pulled my 
leg bv telling me in confidence 
that I had drawn McLoughlin, 
although I knew the draw 
had not then been made. 
I pulled their legs by 
appearing ex- 
cited, but the 
joke of it was 
that when 1 had 
actually drawn 
the young Cali- 
fornian and told 
my jocular 
friends, they 
thought I was 

^ -~* 

of over 

S. N, DOUST, whose alow-paced service enables the 
Anglo- Australian to get into an excellent volleying 
position at the net. 

3y boogie 

pulling their leg. I re- 
member the game as if it 
were yesterday, and I must 
confess that my op- 
ponent's high bound- 
ing service 
and deadly 
at the net 
were very disconcerting. But one 
can get used even to a hurricane, and 
by keeping quite cool the score was 
called two sets all. We had a tre- 
mendous struggle in the fifth set, 
which he won by 9-7 or 7-5, or some- 
thing like that, The one thing most 
indelibly impressed on my mind was 
the losing shot of the match. He 
had me running hard to my forehand 
about a yard and a half outside the 
base - line, the 
ball going away 
from me. Never- 
theless, I got to 
it, and with 
only about 
three inches of 
room I passed him, but the ball just 
missed hitting his base-line by a hair's- 
breadth. " Out," shouted the lines- 
men ; " lehabod/ 1 said L 

Another match of which I have very 
vivid recollections was the Wimbledon 
Challenge Round of raj 1, when, after a 
series of gruelling matches in ba king- 
hot weather — my recovery against 
C P. Dixon in the 
All Comers' final 
nearly killed me — 
I faced the late 
4+ Tony " Wilding 
with a temperature 
a hundred and a 
cer t i ficate cr 11 m pled 
up in my pocket forbidding 
me to play. Playing soft high 
stuff to keep one of the fittest 
athletes who ever lived off his 
drive, I won the second and 
third sets, feeling worse every 
rally. * How I struggled through 
the fourth set p which brought 
Wilding on an equality, I can* 
not imagine, but when the 
grass \ vegan to roll like waves 
and the stands 
started to close in 
upon me I had to 
give it up. What 
really mUti^d me 
was 1 1 1 e t r e n 1 e nd o us 
rally we had in the 
fourth set to decide 
whether I should 


H. Roper Barrett 


make it two-all or Wilding gain a lead of 
3—1. Wilding won, and that finished me. 
The funny thing about it all was that I 
never intended to enter seriously for the 
Singles that year ; indeed, only when the 
draw was made did 1 discover that a friend 
had sent in my name. 

The Use of Lobf. 

My usual plan when opposed to a player 
whose methods and strokes are unknown to 
me, and one that can be recommended, is to 
put up a few lobs — slow balls of high tra- 
jectory — to try to ascertain which are the 
strong and which the weak points 
in your opponent's game. You 
will note carefully, for instance, 
whether he runs round a good shot 
to Ms backhand, volleys it, or 
plays it cleanly and forcibly off 

The late "TONY" WILDING, who 

beat H, Rgper Barrett (retired) in the 


mal C 


who has kept 
hi* fiery service 
longer than 
any of his con- 

the ground with his back- 
hand. Give your friend the 
enemy a variety of these 
test shots, noting for future 
reference what he does with a volley, 
how he shapes at a well-tossed lob. if 
he relishes a short one, etc. Then 
play most of the time to the point 
you have ascertained to be his 
weakest. Some players, of course, 
can be the more easily beaten by 
giving them the shots for which they 
are asking to enable them to bring 
off their favourite stroke, as this 
they are always liable 
to overdo. 

Another point. You 
often hear players say : 
"He led me five — one 
in the last set and yet 
got home/' There 
is no occasion for the 
" and yet," Each game 
tennis is a 

Challenge round d|)rl§lhkl fro n at lawn 


Lawn Tennis Tactics 

separate affair and should be treated as such. 
It is, of course, rather nasty to have a big 
lead hanging over you, but this should never 
be allowed to worry one unduly. As I have 
remarked previously, it sometimes pays to 
place the ball to your opponent's favourite 
position for making his winners from, but 
take thundering good care to score off his 
pet returns. 

This will make him wonder and lose con- 
fidence. Again let me urge the great ne- 
cessity for finding out exactly what your 
man can do and what he cannot. Give him 
as much as possible of the stuff he obviously 
hates, but do not forget to vary your play 
the whole game through according to the 

soft ball with the aforesaid high trajectory 
and good length to- his backhand. This is 
one of the most disconcerting shots in the 
game to all types of players, and, moreover, 
often gives one a chance to get back into 
court when temporarily driven out. 

The Beit Player 1 Have Met. 

Your great trial will be meeting a pi aver 
of the calibre of the late H, L. Doherty, who 
had no weaknesses at which to peg away. 
He was, in my judgment, as near perfection 
as possible. All the modern players whom 
I have seen display a weakness somewhere. 
After much deliberation I have come to the 
definite conclusion that the younger Dohertv 
was the best player I have ever 
seen, let alone played against. There 
f^fe. Ik is nothing that present-day players 
can do on a lawn tennis court 
that he could not do* As 
for dealing with reverse 
services, the u Little 
Doe " invariably beat 
the Americans who 
possessed this 
weapon in its 
most exagger- 
ated form. 

R ROPER BARRETT, wilh chessboard court. 
(Ouf artist's whimsical imagination of how an ordinary lawn tennis court must appear to Mr. Roper Barrett.) 

opposition, in order that the other fellow 
may not settle down. 

I wonder if S, H. Smith remembers that 
game we played on the centre court at 
Wimbledon some twenty years ago. We 
had a gruelling match which lasted for over 
three hours (5 p.m. to 8 + to p.m*), Smith 
beating me 1 1-9 in the fifth set. He ran 
round all his backhand shots and I ran 
miles and miles after his returns— ^first in 
the angle of the service-line and then in the 
farthest corner of the base-lines. Next year 
we met again, when I played softly with 
high — very high — trajectory to his forehand 
and beat him three sets to love. Verb. sap. 

Generally speaking, it is a great mistake 
to give hard returns to a man who thrives on 
pace. For this type of gentleman play a 

by LiOOglC 

" H. L." was sound all round, and with his 
brother made the perfect double. 

Too much is made, I think, of the modern 
fiery service ; it rarely lasts for long. Where 
is Maurice McLoughlin's service to-day ? I 
wonder, too, in this connection how the 
team of Americans A. W. Gore, E. D, Black, 
and myself met in the first Davis Cup at 
Longwood in 1900 would fare against the 
three of us to-day ? I am almost persuaded 
to wager a large sum of money — only the 
L.T.A. won't let me — that Malcolm Whitman, 
D wight Davis, and Ho I com be Ward would not 
beat us if they came to Wimbledon this year. 

After all, the great attraction of the game 
of lawn tennis is that you can play it for 
years and years for your own personal en- 
joyment and the preservation ot your health, 



Some Adventures of 








VHE death has occurred at Staines 
of Mr. Falmouth, late Superinten- 
dent of the Criminal Investigation 
Department. Mr. Falmouth will 
best be remembered as the officer who 
arrested George Manfred, the leader of The 
Four Just Men gang. The sensational 
escape of this notorious man is perhaps the 
most remarkable chapter in criminal history. 
4 The Four Just Men ' was an organization 
which set itself to right acts of injustice 
which the law left unpunished. It is 
believed that the members were exceedingly 
rich men who devoted their lives and for- 
tunes to this quixotic but wholly unlawful 
purpose. The gang has not been heard of 
for many years." 

Manfred read the paragraph from the 
Morning Telegram, and Leon Gonsalez 

" I have an absurd objection to being 
called a ' gang,' " he said, and Manfred 
smiled quietly. 

" Poor old Falmouth," he reflected, " well 
he knows ! He was a nice fellow." 

" I liked Falmouth," agreed Gonsalez. 
" He was a perfectly normal man except 
for a slight progenism " 

Manfred laughed. 

" Forgive me if I appear dense, but I 
have never been able to keep up with you 
in this particular branch of science," he 
said ; " what is a ' progenism ' ? " 

" The unscientific call it an ' underhung 
jaw,' " explained Leon, " and it is mistaken 
for strength. It is only normal in Piedmont, 
where the BrachycephaliC skull is so 
common. With such a skull, progenism is 
almost a natural condition." 


" Progenism or not, he was a good fellow," 
insisted Manfred, and Leon nodded. " With 
well-developed wisdom teeth," he added, 
slyly, and Gonsalez went red, for teeth 
formed a delicate subject with him. Never- 
theless, he grinned. 

They were sitting on a little green lawn 
overlooking BabbacQmbe beach. The sun 
was going down, and a perfect day was 
drawing to its golden close. 

Manfred looked at his watch. 

" Are we dressing for dinner ? " he asked, 
" or has your professorial friend Bohemian 
tastes ? " 

"He is of the new school," said Leon; 
" rather superior, rather immaculate, very 
Balliol. I am anxious that you should meet 
him, his hands are rather fascinating." 

Manfred in his wisdom did not ask why. 

" I met him at golf," Gonsalez went on, 
" and certain things happened which inter- 
ested me. For example, every time he saw 
an earthworm he stopped to kill it, and dis- 
played such an extraordinary fury in the 
assassination that I was astounded. Pre- 
judice has no place in the scientific mind. 
He is exceptionally wealthy. People at the 
club told me that his uncle left him close on 
a million, and the estate of his aunt or 
cousin who died last year was valued at 
another million, and he was the sole legatee. 
Naturally a good catch. Whether Miss 
Moleneux thinks the same I have had no 
opportunity of gauging," he added, after a 

" Good lord ! " cried Manfred, in con- 
sternation, as he jumped up from his chair. 
" She is coming to dinner, too, isn't she ? " 

" And her mamma," said Leon, soberly. 


28 Some Adventures of The Four Just Men 

" Her mamma has learnt Spanish by Corre- 
spondence Lessons, and insists upon greeting 
me with ' habla usted Espanol ? ' " 

The two men had rented Cliff House for 
the spring. " Senor Fuentes " had taken it 
after one inspection, and found the calm 
and the peace which only Nature's treasury 
of colour and fragrance could bring to his 
active mind. 

MANFRED had dressed, and was sitting 
by the wood fire in the drawing-room 
when the purr of a motor-car coming 
cautiously down the cliff road brought him 
to his feet and through the open French 

Leon Gonsalez had joined him before the 
big limousine had come to a halt in front of 
the porch. 

The first to alight was a man, and George 
observed him closely. He was tall and thin. 
He was not bad-looking, though the face 
was lined and the eyes deep-set and level. 
He greeted Gonsalez with just a tiny hint 
of patronage in his tone. 

44 I hope we haven't kept you waiting, but 
my experiments detained me. Nothing went 
right in the laboratory to-day. You know 
Miss Moleneux and Mrs. Moleneux ? " 

Manfred was introduced, and found him- 
self shaking hands with a grave-eyed girl of 
singular beauty. 

Manfred was unusually sensitive to " atmos- 
phere," and there was something about this 
girl which momentarily chilled him. Her 
frequent smile, sweet as it was and un- 
doubtedly sincere, was as undoubtedly 
mechanical. Leon, who judged people by 
reason rather than instinct, reached his 
conclusion more surely, and gave shape and 
definite description to what in Manfred's 
mind was merely a distressful impression. 
The girl was afraid ! Of what, wondered 
Leon. Not of that stout, complacent little 
woman whom she called mother, and surely 
not of this thin-faced, academic gentleman in 
pince-nez ? 

Gonsalez had introduced Dr. Viglow, and 
whilst the ladies were taking off their cloaks 
in Manfred's room above he had leisure to 
form a judgment. There was no need for him 
to entertain his guest. Dr. Viglow spoke 
fluently, entertainingly, and all the time. 

" Our friend here plays a good game of 
golf," he said, indicating Gonsalez ; " a very 
good game of golf indeed for a foreigner. 
You, too, are Spanish ? " 

Manfred nodded . He was more thoroughl y 
English than the doctor, did that gentleman 
but know ; but it was as a Spaniard, and 
armed, moreover, with a Spanish passport, 
that he was a visitor to Britain. 

" I understood you to say that your 
investigations have taken rather a sensational 

Digitized by GOOQK" 

turn, doctor, 1 ' said Leon, and a light came 
into Dr. Viglow's eyes. 

" Yes," he said, complacently, and then 
quickly : " Who told you that ? " 

" You told me yourself at the club this 

The doctor frowned. 

44 Did I ? " he said, and passed his hand 
across his forehead. " I can't recollect that. 
When was this ? " 

" This morning," said Leon ; " but your 
mind was probably occupied with much 
more important matters." 

The young professor bit his lip and frowned 

" I ought not to have forgotten what 
happened this morning," he said, in a 
troubled tone. 

He gave the impression to Manfred that 
one half of him was struggling desperately 
to overcome a something in the other half. 
Suddenly he laughed. 

" A sensational turn ! " he said. " Yes, 
indeed, and I rather think that within a few 
months I shall not be without fame, even 
in my own country ! It is, of course, terribly 
expensive. I was only reckoning up to-day 
that my typists' wages come to nearly sixty 
pounds a w$ek." 

Manfred opened his eyes at this. 

" Your typists' wages ? " he repeated, 
slowly. " Are you preparing a book ? " 

11 Here are the ladies," said Dr. Viglow. 

His manner was abrupt to rudeness, and 
later when they sat round the table in the 
little dining-room Manfred had further cause 
to wonder at the boorishness of this young 
scientist. He was seated next to Miss 
Moleneux, and the meal was approaching its 
end, when most unexpectedly he turned tc 
the girl and in a loud voice said : — 

" You haven't kissed me to-day, 

The girl went red and white and the 
fingers that fidgeted with the table-ware 
before her were trembling when she faltered: — 

" Haven't— haven't I, Felix ? " 

The bright eyes of Gonsalez never left the 
doctor. The man's face had gone purple 
with rage. 

" By God ! This is a nice thing ! " he 
almost shouted. " I'm engaged to you. 
I've left you everything in my will, and I'm 
allowing your mother a thousand a year, 
and you haven't kissed me to-day I " 

" Doctor ! " It was the mild but insistent 
voice of Gonsalez that broke the tension. 
" I wonder whether you would tell me what 
chemical is represented by the formula 
CL0 5 ." 

The doctor had turned his head slowly at 
the sound of Leon's voice, and now was 
staring at him. Slowly the strange look 
passed from his face and it became normal. 


Edgar Wallace 


' 4 Cl 3 O s is oxide of chlorine/' he said, in 
an even voice, and from thenceforward the 
conversation passed, by way of acid reactions, 
into a scientific channel. 

The only person at the table who had not 
been perturbed by Viglow's outburst had 

She did not specify who the wi impossible 
person " was, but Manfred sensed a whole 
world of tragedy. He was,, not romantic, 
but one look at the girl had convinced him 
that there was something wrong in this 
engagement. Now it was that he came to a 

Unexpectedly he turned to the girl and in a loud voice said 

to-day, Margaret/ ' 

1 You haven't kissed me 

been the dumpy, complacent lady on Man- 
fred's right. She had tittered audibly at the 
reference to her allowance, and when the 
hum of conversation became general she 
lowered her voice and leant toward Manfred. 

" Dear Felix is so eccentric/' she said, 
" but he is quite the nicest, kindest soul. 
One must look after one's girls, don't you 
agree, So nor ? " 

She asked this latter question in very 
bad Spanish, and Manfred nodded* He shot 
a glance at the girl. She was still deathly 

" And I am perfectly certain she will be 
happy —much happier than she would have 
been with that impossible person/* 

conclusion which Leon had reached an hour 
before ; that the emotion which dominated 
the girl was fear. And he pretty well knew 
of whom she was afraid. 

Half an hour later, when the tail-light of 
Dr. Vi glow's limousine had disappeared round 
a corner of the drive, the two men went back 
to the drawing-room, and Manfred threw a 
handful of kindling to bring the fire to a 

M Well, what do you think ? " said Gon- 
salez, rubbing his hands together with 
evidence of some enjoyment, 

"I think it's rather horrible/' replied 
Manfred, settling himself in his chair. " I 
thought the dsLjs when wicked mothers 


30 Some Adventures of The Four Just Men 

forced their daughters into unwholesome 
marriages were past and done with. One 
hears so much about the modern girl." 

" Human nature isn't modern," said 
Gonsalez, briskly, " and most mothers are 
fools where their daughters are concerned. 
I know you won't agree, but I speak with 
authority. Mantegazza collected statistics of 
eight hundred and forty-three families " 

Manfred chuckled. 

" You and your Mantegazza ! " he laughed. 
" Did that infernal man know everything ? " 

" Almost everything," said Leon. " As 
to the girl " — he became suddenly grave — 
" she will not marry him, of course." 

" What is the matter with him ? " asked 
Manfred. " He seems to have an ungovern- 
able temper." 

" He is mad," replied Leon, calmly, and 
Manfred looked at him. 

" Mad ? " he repeated, incredulously. " Do 
you mean to say that he is a lunatic ? " 

" I never use the word mad in a spectacular 
or even in a vulgar sense," said Gonsalez, 
lighting a cigarette carefully. " The man is 
undoubtedly mad. I thought so a few days 
ago, and I am certain of it now. The most 
ominous test is the test of memory. People 
who are on the verge of madness, or entering 
its early stages, do not remember what 
happened a short time before. Did you 
notice how worried he was when I told him 
of the conversation we had had this 
morning ? " 

" That struck me as peculiar,'* agreed 

" He was fighting," said Leon ; " the sane 
half of his brain against the insane half. 
The doctor against the irresponsible animal. 
The doctor told him that if he had suddenly 
lost his memory for incidents which had 
occurred only a few hours before, he was on 
the high way to lunacy. The crazy half of 
the brain told him that he was such a 
wonderful fellow that the rules applying to 
ordinary human beings did not apply to him. 
We will call upon him to-morrow to see his 
laboratory, and discover why he is paying 
sixty pounds a week for typists," he said. 
" And now, my dear George, you can go to 
bed. I am going to read the excellent but 
crften misguided Lombroso on the male 

DR. VIGLOW'S laboratory was a new red 
building on the edge of Dartmoor. To 
be exact, it consisted of two buildings, 
one of which was a large army hut which 
had been recently erected for the accom- 
modation of the doctor's clerical staff. 

" I haven't met a professor for two or 
three years," said Manfred, as they were 
driving across the moor, en route to pav 


their call, " nor have I been in a laboratory 
for five. And yet, within the space of a few 
weeks, I have met two extraordinary pro- 
fessors, one of whom I admit was dead. 
Also I have visited two laboratories." 

Leon nodded. 

" Some day I will make a very complete 
examination of the phenomena of coin- 
cidence," he said. 

When they reached the laboratory they 
found a post-office van backed up against 
the main entrance, and three assistants in 
white overalls were carrying post-bags and 
depositing them in the van. 

" He must have a pretty large corre- 
spondence," said Manfred, in wonder. 

The doctor, in a long white overall, was 
standing at the door as they alighted from 
their car, and greeted them warmly. 

" Come into my office," he said, and led 
the way to a large airy room which was 
singularly free from the paraphernalia which 
Gonsalez usually associated with such work- 

" You have a heavy post," said Leon, 
and the doctor laughed quietly. 

" They are merely going to the Torquay 
post-office," he said. " I have arranged for 
them to be dispatched when " he hesi- 
tated — " when I am sure. You see," he 
said, speaking with great earnestness, " a 
scientist has to be so careful. Every minute 
after he has announced a discovery he is 
tortured with the fear that he has forgotten 
something, some essential, or has reached a 
too hasty conclusion. But I think I'm 
right," he said, speaking half to himself. 
" I'm sure I'm right, but I must be even 
more sure ! " 

He showed them round the large room, 
but there was little which Manfred had not 
seen in the laboratory of the late Professor 
Tableman. Viglow had greeted them geni- 
ally, indeed expansively, and yet within 
five minutes of their arrival he was taciturn, 
almost silent, and did not volunteer infor- 
mation about any of the instruments in 
which Leon showed so much interest unless 
he was asked. 

They came back to his room, and again 
his mood changed, and he became almost gaw 

" I'll tell you," he said ; "by Jove, I'll tell 
you ! And no living soul knows this except 
myself, or realizes or understands the extra- 
ordinary work I have been doing." 

His face lit up, his eyes sparkled, and it 
seemed to Manfred that he grew taller in 
this moment of exaltation. Pulling open a 
drawer of a table which stood against the 
wall, he brought out a large porcelain dish 
and laid it down. From a wire-netted 
cupboard on the wall he took two tin boxes 
and, with an expression of disgust which he 
could not disgime, tamed the contents into 


Edgar Wallace 


" He turned the contents into the dish* and then Leon saw to his amazement a wriggling little 
red shape twisting and turning in its acute discomfort/ 1 

the dish, It was apparently a box full of 
common garden mould, and then Leon saw 
to his amazement a wriggling little red 
shape twisting and twining in its acute 
discomfort. The little red fellow sought to 
hide himself, and burrowed sinuously into 
the mould. 

" Curse you ! Curse you ! J> The doctor's 
voice rose until it was a howl. -His face was 
twisted and puckered in his mad rage. 
" How I hate you ! '* 

If ever a man's eyes held hate and terror, 
they were the eyes of Dr. Felix Viglow. 

Manfred drew a long breath, and stepped 
back a pace the better to observe him. 
Then the man calmed himself, and peered 
dow r n at Ijeon. 

" When I was a child," he said, in a voice 

by Google 

that shook, " I hated them, and we had 
a nurse named Martha, a beastly woman, a 
wicked woman, who dropped one down my 
neck. Imagine the horror of it ! ,J 

Leon said nothing. To him the earth- 
worm was a genus of chsetopod in the section 
Qtigoch&ia and bore the somewhat pretentious 
name of Lumbricus terretris. And in that 
way Dr H Viglow, eminent naturalist and 
scientist, should have regarded this beneficent 
little fellow. 

41 I have a theory/' said the doctor — he 
was calmer now and was wiping the sweat 
from his forehead with a handkerchief — 
** that in cvcles every type of living thing on 
the earth becomes in ttarn the dominant 
creature. In a million years' time man may 
dwindle to the size of an ant, and the 


Some Adventures of The Four Just Men 

Don't touch that tele- 
phone ! " Leon &aid t sternly. 
The doctor's hand was on the 
receiver when Leon shot him dead.** 

earth worm, by its super-intelligence, its 
cunning, and its ferocity, may be pre- 
eminent in the world t I have always 
thought that/' he went on, when neither 
Leon nor Manfred offered any comment. 
"It is still my thought by day and my 
dream by night. I have devoted my life 
to the destruction of this menace," 

Now, the earthworm is neither cunning 
nor intelligent, and is, moreover, notoriously 
devoid of ambition, 

The doctoT again went to the cupboard, 
and took out a wide-necked bottle filled with 
a greyish powder, He brought it back and 
held it within a few inches of Leon's face. 

" This is the work of twelve years," he 
said, simply. " There is no difficulty in 
finding a substance which will kill these 
pests, but this does more,' J 

He took a scalpel and, tilting the bottle, 
brought out a few grains of the powder on 
the edge of the blade. This he dissolved in a 
twenty-ounce measure which he filled with 
water. He stirred the colourless fluid with 
a glass rod, then lifting the rod he allowed 
three drops to fall upon the mould wherein 
the little reptile was concealed. A few 
seconds passed ; there was a heaving of the 
earth where the victim was concealed. 

" He is dead/' , said the doctor, 
triumphantly, and scraped awav the earth 
to prove the truth of his words, ip And he 
is not only dead, but that handful of earth 
is death to anv other earthworm that touches 

Digitized by GOOQIC 

He rang a bell and one of his attendants 
came in. 

' N Clear away that/' he said, with a shudder, 
and walked gloomily to his desk, 

Leon did not speak all the way back to 
the house. He sat curled up in the corner 
of the car, his arms tightly folded, his chin 
on his breast. That night without a word 
of explanation he left the house, declining 
Manfred's suggestion that he should walk 
with him, and volunteering no information 
as to where he was going. 

Gonsalez walked by the cliff road, across 
Babbacombe Downs, and came to the doctor's 
house at nine o'clock that night. The 
doctor had a large house and maintained a 
big staff of servants, but amongst his other 
eccentricities was the choice of a gardener's 
cottage away from the house as his sleeping - 
place at night. 

It was only lately that the doctor had 
chosen this lonely lodging, He had been 
happy enough in the big old house which 
had been his father's, until he had heard 
voices whispering to him at night and the 
creak of boards, and had seen shapes vanish- 
ing along the dark corridors, and then in 
his madness he had conceived the idea that 
his servants were conspiring against him 


Edgar Wallace 


and that he might any night be murdered 
in his bed. So he had the gardener turned 
out of his cottage, had refurnished the little 
house, and there, behind locked doors, he 

there I shall make a speech and tell the 
story of my discovery; Will you have a 
drink ? I have nothing here, but I can get 
it from the house. I have a telephone in my 

Leon shook his head, 

" I have been rather puzzling out your 
plan, doctor/' he said, accepting the proffered 
cigarette, '* and I have been trying to connect 
those postal bags which 1 saw being loaded 
at the door of your laboratory with the 
discovery which you revealed this afternoon." 

Dr. Viglow s narrow eyes were gleaming 
with merriment, ami he leant back in his 


read and thought and 
slept the nights away* 
Gonsalez had heard of this 
peculiarity, and approached 
the cottage with some caution, 
for a frightened man is more 
dangerous than a wicked man. He 
rapped at the door, and heard a step 
across the flagged floor. 

" Who is that ? " asked a voice. 

"It is I/ 1 said Gonsalez, and gave the 
name by which he was known. 

After hesitation the lock turned and the 
door opened. 

"Come in, come in," said Viglow, testily> 
and locked the door behind him. * You 
have come to congratulate me. I am sure* 
You must come to my wedding too, my 
friend. It will be a wonderful wedding, for 

Vol lvii.-3. 

chair and crossed his legs, like one preparing 
for a pleasant recital. 

" I will tell you," he said. " For months 
I have b&eri, in correspondence with farming 
"flHfr^tf^JKFHIffl* 011 the Continent. 


Some Adventures of The Four Just Men 

I have something of a European reputation," 
he said, with that extraordinary immodesty 
which Leon had noticed before. '* In fact, I 
think that my treatment for phylloxera did 
more to remove the scourge from the vineyards 
of Europe than any other preparation." 

Leon nodded. He knew this to be the 

41 So, you see, my word is accepted in 
matters dealing with agriculture. But I 
found after one or two talks with our own 
stupid farmers that there is a common 
prejudice against destroying " — he did not 
mention the dreaded name but shivered — 
" and that, of course, I had to get round. 
Now that I am satisfied that my preparation 
is exact, I can release the packets in the 
post-office. In fact, I was just about to 
telephone to the postmaster telling him that 
they could go off — they are all stamped and 
addressed — when you knocked at the door." 
" To whom are they addressed ? " asked 
Leon, steadily. 

" To various farmers — some fourteen 
thousand in all — in various parts .of the 
country and Europe, and each packet has 
printed instructions in English, French, 
German, and Spanish. I had to tell them 
that it was a new kind of fertilizer, or they 
may not have been as enthusiastic in the 
furtherance of my experiment as I am." 

" And what are they going to do with 
these packets when they get them ? " 

" They will dissolve them and spray a 
certain area of their land — I suggested 
ploughed land. They need only treat a 
limited area of earth," he explained. " I 
think these wretched beasts will carry infec- 
tion quickly enough. I believe," he leant 
forward and spoke impressively, " that in 
six months there will not be one living in 
Europe or Asia." 

" They do not know that the poison is 
intended to kill — earthworms ? " asked Leon. 
" No, I've told you," snapped the other. 
" Wait, I will telephone the postmaster." 

He rose quickly to his feet, but Leon was 
quicker and gripped his arm. 

" My dear friend," he said, " you must 
not do this." 

Dr. Viglow tried to withdraw his arm. 
" Let me go," he snarled. " Are you one 
of those devils who are trying to torment 

In ordinary circumstances, Leon would 
have been strong enough to hold the man, 
but Viglow's strength was extraordinary, 
and Gonsalez found himself thrust back into 
the chair. Before he could spring up the 
man had passed through the door and 
slammed and locked it behind him. 

The cottage was on one floor, and was 

divided into two rooms by a wooden partition 
which Viglow had had erected. Over the 
door was a fanlight, and, pulling the table 
forward, Leon sprang on to the top and with 
his elbow smashed the flimsy frame. 

" Don't touch that telephone I " he said, 
sternly. " Do you hear ? " 

The doctor looked round with a grin. 

" You are a friend of those devils," he 
said, and his hand was on the receiver when 
Leon shot him dead. 


Next monlk . 

AXFRED came back the next morning 
from his walk and found Gonsalez 
pacing the lawn, smoking an extra 
long cigar. 

" My dear Leon," said Manfred, as he 
slipped his arm in the other's, fi you did not 
tell me." 

" I thought it best to wait," said Leon. 

" I heard quite by accident," Manfred 
went on. " The story is that a burglar 
broke into the cottage and shot the doctor 
when he was telephoning for assistance. All 
the silverware in the outer room has been 
stolen. The doctor's watch and pocket-book 
have disappeared." 

" They are at this moment at the bottom 
of Babbacombe Bay," said Leon. " I went 
fishing very early this morning before you 
were awake." 

They paced the lawn in silence for a while, 
and then : — 

" Was it necessary ? " asked Manfred. 

" Very necessary," said Leon, gravely. 
" You have to realize first of all that although 
this man was mad, he had discovered not 
only a poison, but an infection." 

" But, my dear fellow," smiled Manfred, 
" was an earthworm worth it ? " 

" Worth more than his death," said Leon. 
" There isn't a scientist in the world who 
does not agree that if the earthworm was 
destroyed the world would become sterile 
and the people of this world would be starving 
in seven years." 

Manfred stopped in his walk and stared 
down at his companion. 

" Do you really mean that ? " 

" He is the one necessary creature in God's 
world," Leon said, soberly. "It fertilizes 
the land and covers the bare rocks with 
earth. It is the surest friend of mankind 
that we know, and now I am going down to 
the post-office with a story which I think 
will be sufficiently plausible to recover those 
worm-poisoners . ' ' 

Manfred mused a while, then he said : — 

"I'm glad in many ways — in every way," 
he corrected. " I rather liked that girl, and 
I'm sure that impossible person isn't so 

Original from 
-The Man Who Di^ MICHIGAN 





IT was in her aunt's box at the Opera 
that Gwendolen Oakhurst first met 
Lord Bampton. They were playing 
something revolutionary by Stra- 
vinsky, but to Gwen the music was but the 
prelude to her own romance. 

" He's certainly handsome," said Gwen 
pensively, as she looked across the theatre. 

" And wishes to meet you, my dear," 
said old Lady Mary Warrington. *' With 
a reserved nature like Harry's that speaks 
whole encyclopaedias." 

" Tell me about him," said Gwen. " I 
really think I shall like him, Auntie." 

" Like him ? You will love him, my 
dear," said Lady Mary. " He has looks, 
brains, immense wealth, and is of the 
kindliest disposition. With such advantages 
one expects to find a failure somewhere, 
perhaps in manners. His are perfect. He 
possesses the magnificent calm which was 
held in my youth to distinguish the well- 

-1 Has he no faults whatever ? " asked her 

" If he has one it is a virtue," replied 
Lady Mary, " and one which should be an 
additional attraction to you. He adores 
animals. He even breeds wild horses in his 
park, and he asks to be introduced to you ! 
Do you want an archangel ? " 

" Not exactly," said Gwen, pensively. 

" I have none on my visiting list," said 
Lady Mary. 

On one whose heart was also warm, who 
adored animals and was herself a notably 
sweet example of the type best represented 
by Gainsborough in his most successful 
portraits, such representations could not 
fail to have an instant effect, even if Lady 
Mary's collocation of wild-horse breeding 
and a desire for an introduction was some- 

Copyrigbt, 1921, 

what startling. When representation was 
replaced by adoring reality the result was 
all that Lady Mary hoped for. It came 
about with such amazing rapidity that in 
less than a week there would have been news 
concerning his daughter to be imparted to 
Colonel Oakhurst, had not Gwen begged her 
lover to give her time to break it. 

" As long as our marriage is not delayed," 
said Lord Bampton, amiably, "I do not 
mind postponing the news of our engagement. 
I will then call early next week and ask foi 
permission to pay you my addresses, dearest.' 

" They will be well received," said Gwen, 

" And if your dear, ferocious, white- 
haired father is not amenable, I shall of 
course run away with you," said her lover, 
as he kissed her hand. 

"With your wild horses, Harry ? " asked 

" They would symbolize my feelings," 
said Lord Bampton. " But I'm very happy." 

And so was Gwen, though she was a little 
nervous when her lover called at Warrington 
Grange a few days later. Even Mrs. Oak- 
hurst did not know how far matters had 
really advanced, but the Colonel showed no 
irascibility when she hinted, not vaguely, 
that his daughter had ' made a more than 
notable conquest. It is true that he searched 
his mind for objections, but he owned 
presently that he had heard nothing against 
his would-be son-in-law save that he was, 
perhaps, somewhat eccentric in his devotion 
to the animal kingdom. 

" Still, that's nothing, and if he don't 
shoot or hunt it can't be helped. It's his 
loss, not mine," said the Colonel. " I don't 
care a — a continental ! He may come here 
with his wild horses if he likes, or with a 
chimpanzee ! Didn't I hear he keeps 'em ? " 



The Egregious Goat 

" It ate pari of a cushion tassel 
By the Lord Harry, 

"Will he really bring one with him?' 1 
asked Mrs. Oak hurst, anxiously, M I don't 
quite think I should care for a chimpanzee 
to come here. The animal might break 

" Let him bring a gorilla if he likes, and 
break up the house/' said the Colonel, 
chuckling. "I'll tell Benson that if Lord 
Bampton turns up with a Polar bear or a 
Bengal tiger it's to come into the drawing- 
room. For I'll say 
this much, that on 
thinking it over, my 
dear, there's not a 
man in England I'd 
prefer for a son-in- 
law. I remember 
Dicky Brown, who 
knows everyone on 
earth, savin* Bamp- 
ton had the manners 
of Lord Chesterfield 
and the morals of 
the Archbishop of 
Canterbury, while as 
for property, he owns 
half this county and 
a coal-mine in York- 
shire. If he brings 
the Zoo you'll see me 
take it like a lamb ! 
like a lamb ! " 

" Look here, Benson/' said the Colonel a 
little later, " Lord Bampton will call this 
afternoon about four." 

M Yes, sir/' said the butler. 

"If everything isn't spick and span and 
as bright as blazes, there will be appoint- 
ments vacant in this infernal neighbourhood," 
cried the Colonel, fiercely, " And if that 
damned Thompson drops the tea-tray again 
I'll drag him out into the garden and cut his 
throat from ear to ear." 

" I will attend to everything myself, sir/' 
said Benson. 

" And another thing/ 1 said the Colonel, 
" his lordship is fond of pets." 

I( Yes, sir/' said the butler. 

" And I understand he takes them about 
with him/' said the Colonel, "So if he 
brings a chimpanzee or a gorilla with him, 
it's to come into the drawing-room." 

" How shall I know if it's a chimpanzee 
or a gorilla, sir ? " asked the butler. 

" By its bite, of course/ 1 replied the 
Colonel, " But when I say a chimpanzee or 
a gorilla, I mean any livin' thing — a Polar 
bear, or a Bengal tiger, or billy-goat. Do 
you understand clearly — quite clearly ? " 

" Quite dearly , sir/' said the butler, who 
by now was prepared to usher into the 
drawing-room any animal whatsoever, even 
if it were an elephant ot a crocodile* 

* I'm to know it by its bite, am I ? " be 

said, bitterly, u At times there's no knowin' 
what to make of the- Colonel. He's the most 
harbitrary gent in the county." 

It was about a quarter to four when his 
lordship's car, driven unostentatiously by 
himself, stayed outside the imposing front 
entrance of Warrington Grange. By one of 
those highly remarkable coincidences which 
seem to happen in order to bring the pure 
logical sequence of the universe into con- 
tempt, a handsome 
young billy-goat, 
about three part^ 
grown, and that very 
day imported into 
the village by the 
black 9m it h, had 
broken loose from its 
tether and wandered 
into the Colonels 
grounds. F i n d i w 14 
rich feed there, he 
had satiated his appe- 

Itite, and was now 
resolved to satisfy 
the curiosity which 
seems inherent in 
the species. Having 
been brought up by 
hand, he was of an 
amiable and kindly disposition, and well- 
disposed towards humanity. It may be, of 
course, that Lord Bampton "s fondness for 
pets of all kinds was by some mysterious 
means communicated to the goat/ for the 
lively animal rushed from behind the car 
just as Lord Bampton alighted. The genial 
goat, pleased to be with company after a 
period of solitude, tittered a friendly baa as 
he mounted the steps side by side with the 
expected and honoured guest, At that very 
moment Benson appeared at the door, and 
Lord Bampton was ushered into the drawing- 
room with the goat following him. The 
butler, being much relieved that he was 
under no necessity to recognize the species 
of this unlikely pet by its bite, considered 
himself peculiarly fortunate in finding it not 
only gentle but tractable, and so much 
attached to its master that it entered the 
room without being coerced or chased into 
doing so. 

Colonel Oak hurst was alone in the drawing- 
room when the curious pair entered. Mrs. 
Oakhurst considered it advisable to leave 
them alone for a while in order that Lord 
Bampton might be at full liberty to speak 
to Gwendolen's father. She and Gwen there- 
fore waited a while in the library, 

" I am delighted to meet you, Lord 
Bampton," said Colonel Oakhurst, " and as 
my wife and daughter are for the moment 
not here, you must allow mc to introduce 


Motley Roberts 


It seemed obvious to Lord Bam p ton that 
he and Colonel Oakhurst would be friends. 
For in order to please his guest the Colonel 
patted the goat, even while he wondered at 
his choice of pets, and the visitor was 
obviously touched by the affection displayed 
by its owner Iot this engaging animal, As 
the goat wandered round the room with all 
the curiosity characteristic of the race, host 
and guest alike expatiated upon its merits. 
It ate part of a cushion tassel , and though 
the Colonel cursed it in 
his heart, he smiled with 
what seemed ferocious 

" It's a very fine goat," 
said Lord Bam pt on , 
"Very fine indeed/' 

"Yes, a splen- 
did a n i m a 1 — 
splendid. I — I 
love goats," 
sputtered the 
Colonel. M It's 
well-bred, too, 
dashed well- 

" Immense," said Lord Bampton, fervently 
following the line of agreement indicated* 
" I adore them." 

" You don't draw the line anywhere ? '* 
asked the Colonel, as the goat climbed the 
sofa and eyed a shining bureau which stood 
close by* 

" Absolutely nowhere," said Lord Bampton + 
" Have you many pets of this kind ? " 
11 Oh, yes, I have a most delightful pet 

The splendid well-bred goat sampled 
another sofa-cushion. Lord Bampton couldn't 
help wondering at the splendid well-bred 
calm of his host For, judging merely by his 
complexion and his fierce white moustache, 
he would have thought him rather more 
explosive than dynamite. It was odd that 
Gwen had not mentioned her father's passion 
for pets. 

" I understand you have an uncommon 
love for animals yourself/' said the Colonel, 

" The goat climbed 

the sofa and eyed 

a shining bureau 

which stood close 


"Is it at all mischievous ? " asked the 

" At times/' said Lord Bampton ; " but, 
like you/ I love to see animals happy and 
active . ' * 

The happy and active goat made a wonder- 
ful spring and landed safely on the bureau. 

" How beautifully he jumps ! " cried the 
Colonel, wishing he could boil the animal In a 
brass pan, 

" Magnificently I " said Lord Bampton, 
thinking his host must be mad to allow a 
goat in such a beautiful room. " But won't 


The Egregious Goat 

'It doesn't matter if he does/ 1 said the 
Colonel, looking at the goat as if he were 
hypnotized. " I— I rather want something 
broken." # 

" You do ? Isn't that china good ? " 

" Not if the goat likes to break it/ 'said 
the Colonel. " This room has been just the 
same for the last hundred years, and I'm 
tired of it* fairly wearied out by it." 

The goat, after balancing himself in the 
most beautiful manner, jumped from the 
bureau upon a table, and only dislodged an 
old punch-bowl. 

" He jumps very skilfully," said Lord 
Bampton. " I thought he might bring 
everything down. How he does enjoy him- 
self ! " 

" True," said the Colonel. " It affords me 
the deepest pleasure to see animals enjoy 
themselves. Some don't ! Some men hate 
to ! I absolutely know men who would cut 
that goat's throat, or boil it, or fry it ! " 

" Do you really ? " asked Lord Bampton. 
" There is no end to human cruelty. I have 
rarely seen a goat who could jump better. 
You don't mind him chewing that curtain ? " 

" Not in the least," said Colonel Oakhurst. 
" It's old brocade, very old, too old ! Let. 
him do as he likes." 

" You almost excel me in your love of 
animals," said Lord Bampton, warmly, " but 
there is, I maintain, no sign of an amiable 
nature so certain. I try all my friends by 
that test. This particular goat is really a 
most remarkable animal, and seems to have 
immense intellectual curiosity." 

" It looks like it," growled the Colonel. 
" Now just you watch him ! He's going to 
jump on that table." 

4< It looks a highly polished and very 
slippery table," said his guest ; " will he 
be able to keep his footing ? I am curious 
to see." 

The goat made a spring and, landing on 
the table, slid with all four feet together, 
and only brought up on the edge. 

" He seems to have scratched the polished 
surface," said Lord Bampton. " Do you 
mind his scratching it ? " 

" Oh, no, not in the least," said the Colonel, 
with powerfully concentrated calm. " The 
table belonged to my great-grandfather, and 
it's high time it was scratched. Till now 
there wasn't a scratch on it." 

" Does Mrs. Oakhurst like goats ? " asked 
Lord Bampton. 

The Colonel chewed at his lips and made 
curious sounds. 

" Yes, she has a perfect passion for them. 
But being, as most women are, a trifle un- 
certain in her temper, she is apt to take a 
dislike to a particular goat." 

" Surely not to this very delightful 
animal ? " asked the courteous guest, with 

an air of warm interested surprise at the 
bare possibility. 

" What ! dislike a goat like that ? " roared 
the Colonel. " Such an active, inquiring 
animal ! Oh, no ! Why, if it was a simple 
dull goat she would sell it, and buy another 
like that ! " 

'the goat immediately demonstrated that 
it was not dull by springing from the hitherto 
unscratche3 table that had belonged to the 
Colonel's great-grandfather to one which had 
belonged to his grandmother, and brought a 
large silver bowl with a crash to the ground 
as he and the table-cover and the bowl slid 
off together. With beautiful agility the goat 
avoided damage to himself, and, making a 
pleasing little buck, proceeded to eat some 
flowers from the bowl and drink a little of 
the water as it meandered over the parquet 

" And Miss Oakhurst ? " asked Lord 
Bampton, wondering what he should do 
when they were married if Gwen introduced 
goats into the drawing-room of Woodhurst. 

" She also likes 'em — adores 'em," gasped 
the Colonel, wondering if a rich and noble 
son-in-law were worth the price he was 

" Does she feel towards them as you do ? " 

" Oh, no ! " said the Colonel. " I ab?<o- 
lutely defy her to come up to the feelings 
with which I regard this goat. She couldn't 
do it ! My feelings with regard to this goat 
are indescribable, perfectly indescribable ! " 

" They do you honour," said Lord 

THE goat now inspected an old Venetian 
mirror and, discovering a rival in it, 
after a few preliminary bucks rose up 
and charged the other goat, which >o 
obviously intended to charge him. There 
was a fearful crash, and after a moments 
surprise at his sudden victory the successful 
warrior sought other fields. 

" I'm afraid he's broken that mirror," said 
Lord Bampton. 

" It's time it was broken, full time," said 
the Colonel, desperately. " It's — it's only 
an old Venetian thing a silly ancestor of 
mine brought to England. I'll order a nice 
new one from Tottenham Court Road." 

It was certainly remarkable that sucli a 
man should speak like that of an old Venetian 
mirror, but as Lord Bampton knew those 
who owned goats became mad so far as goats 
were concerned, a very common observation 
among those who kept other animals and 
went insane in other ways, he felt he could 
say nothing. The Colonel also felt for the 
moment that he could say nothing. A 
determination of blood to the head seemed 
to threaten him with apoplexy, and he was 
perfectlv aware that his complexion was 


Morley Roberts 



'The goal now inspected an old Venetian minor and, discovering a rival in \u charged 

the other goat*" 

that of a ripe prize tomato as his hands 
shook with the madly repressed desire to 
strangle Lord Barn p ton's goat without delay. 
To save his own life and that of this accursed 
animal it was necessary for him to quit the 
room at all costs. He choked as he said he 
must leave his guest for a moment, 

11 IH see if my wife and daughter have 
got back," he sputtered. " You don't mind 
if I leave you and the goat for a minute ? " 

"Not at all/' said Lord Bampton; "we 
shall no doubt enjoy ourselves while you are 

AND even as the Colonel hastened blindly 
to the door the goat obviously took a 
fancy to something upon the mantel- 
piece. It was perhaps a piece of old Chelsea, 
or the photograph of the Colonel in a silver 
frame. The animal was not at all awed by 
the difficult approach to his desire, and Lord 
Bampton watched him with great curiosity, 
being firmly convinced it was not the first 
time the animal had been up there. By a 
very skilful use of a sofa, an occasional table, 
and the back of an easy-chair. Billy achieved 
his desire, and stood with all " four feet 
together on the summit of his Matterhorn, 

" Bravo, Billy I " said his lordship, and 
Billy baaed, 

And so did the Colonel in the passage. 
For he ran against his wife and Gwendolen. 

*' How — how do you like him ? " they 
asked, eagerly! 

It was then that the Colonel baaed and 
made strange and peculiar noises, 

" What is it ? Oh, what is it ? " they 
cried, in chorus, 

" That — that accursed Bampton," said the 
Colonel, " he's wreckin' the house, fairly 
wreckin' it ! " 

" Oh, father/' said Gwen, " what can you 
mean ? Do, do be calm I " 

" Ain't I calm ? " roared the Colonel, as 
he tugged at his collar "I'm so calm it's 
kUlin' me. The goat — the goat ! " 

" Tom, what gop.t are you speaking of ? " 
asked his wife. " Tell us, do tell us ! " 

" Lord Bampton f s goat, his pet goat that 
he brought with him," gasped the Colonel, 
"He says it's a splendid well-bred goat 
with amazin' intellectual curiosity, and by 
the Holy Poker if you want real cold-blooded 
calmness go in and see his infernal well-bred 
lordship fairly eggin* on the animal to do 
more damage ! I think he must be mad, 
for there's nothing left — nothing ! The room's 
a wreck, and so am I, and every time it 
smashed something he smiled, and said it 
was a well-bred goat, or a fine goat, or that 
it jumped beautifully, and I — what did I 
do ? — why, I said, curse me ! that it was a 
damned well-bred ^oat when the infernal 
beast was wrecking my house, and that it 
was a very, very fine goat — oh, lord !— and 
that it jumped, oh, so beautifully ! Go in 
and see for yourselves. There, listen ! " 

And what they heard was the fall of a 
brass tray. 

" Why the infernal thins; must be on the 
mantelpiece — or perhaps his mad master 
is!" gurgled the Colonel* "Look here, 
Mary, I can't stand this, I can't \ " 

And the unhappy old gentleman took 
several short runs up and down the passage. 

M There must be some mistake " began 

his wife. 

"Go in, go in and see ! " said the Colonel. 
" Let me stay here, I'll put my head under 
the tap in the bathroom, and come back 

And he took a longer run for the bathroom. 

" What shall we do ? " asked Gwendolen's 
mother. " You said he was everything a 
man should be/' 

" And so he is/' said Gwen, firmly. " I 
don't care if he does keep goats. I'll cure 
him of that later. Whatever happens, you 
must keep calm. Come in, or 1*11 go by 

Thus encouraged, Mrs, Oakhurst entered 
the drawing-room, and nothing but the 



The Egregious Goat 

sense oi noblesse oblige kept her from uttering 
wild yells worthy of an East-end lady when 
the cat breaks ornaments in the parlour. 
For upon the mantelpiece, the lambrequin 
of which she had embroidered with her own 
hands, the goat was now disporting himself. 
At every step something came into the 
fender, and at every crash the goat was 
more and more pleased with himself. It 
seemed also that he 
pleased Lord Bamp- 
ton h who did not ^f^ 
observe the ladies 
come in. 

i+ Bravo, Billy ! " said 
his lordship, 

" Baa ! " said Billy. 

M You're simply mag- 
nificent, Billy/' said his 
lordship, " and the most 
remarkable goat I ever saw." 

By this time Mrs. Oakhurst 
had recovered herself. The 
damage was done, and could 
not be undone. But the pos- 
sible match remained. That 
his lordship had desired to 
meet Gwendolen was much, 
but Lord Barnpton, whose manners , if 
eccentric in points, were irreproachable h 
was said never to forgive want of 
manners in others. It suddenly oc- 
curred to her that it mi^ht even be 
that he had determined to put the 
Oakhursts to a severe test, the very 
severest he could devise. If that was 
so, she and Gwen, to whom she whis- 
pered her conclusions as Billy upset 
the other brass tray, would not fail 
to meet the occasion, whatever stress 
was put upon them. 

" Good afternoon, Lord Bampton," 
said Mrs. Oakhurst. And when his 
lordship turned, and saw not only 
Gwendolen but her mother as well 
taking matters so sweetly, he was 
doubly impressed, once by the fact of 
their calm, and again by the certainty 
that nothing but a series of similar dramas 
conducted on many other occasions by 
Colonel Oakhurst could possibly account for 

11 As my husband is detained for a moment, 
my daughter must introduce us," said Mrs. 

As was only natural, the conversation 
turned cheerfully and lightly upon goats in 
general, and particularly upon the goat in 
the room, 

" The goat really seems to be enjoying 
himself to-day," said Mrs, Oakhurst, settling 
herself in the settee, from which she had an 
admirable view of the Matterhorn and the 
goat upon its dangerous traverse. 

" Colonel Oakhurst made the same re- 
mark," said Lord Bam p ton. " It is delight- 
ful to find you are all so fond of animals," 

11 I told you I adored them/' said Gwen- 
dolen, smiling. 

' Do you like goats as well a^ your father?" 
asked his lordship. 

" Even more/' said Gwendolen, truthfully. 
Lord Bampton allowed himself the trifling 
relaxation of a look of 
mild wonder. 

PH Dear me, you don't 
say so," he remarked. 
" Still, they have a 
peculiar elegance of 
their own, and it does 
not really surprise me. 
I can forgive anyone 
anything who is fond 
of animals, I think, 
by the way, that the 
one on the mantel- 
piece is measuring 
with his eye the dis- 
tance from his perch 
and your settee, Mrs. 

But before he or 
Mrs. Oakhurst could 
move, the goat 
launched himself into 
the air and, missing 
her head by some 
inches, landed on the 
bare parquet floor 
and slid for ten feet, 
thus well displaying 
the peculiar elegance 
for which his lordship 
commended the goat 
family. Mrs, Oak- 
hurst, although it 
was the first time in 
her life that a goat 
had jumped over her 
from a mantelpiece, 
displayed a high-bred 
calm which pleased their guest, and led to 
the further reflection that if her mother was 
thus attuned to the peculiar harmonies of the 
Colonel's mind, and preserved the Horatian 
precept of keeping cool when in difficulties, 
her daughter was likely to make an equally 
good wife. Thus every action of the goat 
and Mrs. Oakhurst and Gwendolen riveted 
the fetters of love upon Lord Bampton- 

Leaving the Himalayas of the mantel- 
piece, the goat proceeded to discover 
Caucasus in the grand piano, and perhaps 
imagining that a pile of modern music 
represented Elburz, leapt upon the piano 
lightly. The sound that proceeded from the 
beautiful wood top seamed to excite his 
curiosity [fltf Eh*l ?fs$FpWC t#j.*JH> l <g h tr > ™ S 

** Billy achieved his desire 

and stood on the summit 

of hi« Matter horn." 

Morley Roberts 

"The goat launched himself into the air and, missing h:r head by some inches, landed 

on the parquet floor.** 

the instrument's general resonance; and then " He seems to take great interest in the 

climbed on the peak of music. music/' said Lord Bampton. 

" You don't mind him being on the piano, " He may eat a great deal of Debussy 

I trust?" said Lord Bampton, without getting much further/' said Gwen, 

#i Certainly not/' said Gwen, ** if it pleases as she saw the animal devouring " L\\pr&- 

thesoat -" 3 8 M 1ifMiWl5f"MICHIGAN 


The Egregious Goat 

When the goat tired of his meal and 
walked joyously up and down the keyboard 
his lordship pointed out how evident it 
was that the goat was pleased with the 
simple wood-notes which he evoked, and 
from it built up a theory as to the origin of 
much modern music, Gwendolen argued 
the point eagerly, for she adored the moderns, 
and Lord Bampton at last admitted that it 
was only his fun to decry them, 

" One cannot deny that there is a simple 
wildness in the goat's performance which is 
distinctly pleasing. He has, as the critics 
say, an idiom of his own, not remotely like 
the Russian 

" I think it 
would please my 
husband," said 
Mrs, Oakhurst. 

" Then he likes 
music ? " asked 
Lord Bampton. 

** No, I cannot 
say that. What 
he likes are the 
simpler noises of 
the popular 
song/' replied 
Mrs* Oakhurst* 
" But I wonder 
what detains 
him. Gwendolen, 
please see if your father is still manipulating 
that cold-water tap in the bathroom/' 

" Yes, mother/' said Gwendolen. 

M Has the water-supply gone wrong ? Jl 
asked Lord Bampton, as the door closed, 

M Oh, no/ 1 replied his hostess, #l but when 
he gets excited about anything my husband 
puts his head under the tap, and he is apt 
to leave the water running/' 

' Has he been at all excited this morning?' 1 
asked his lordship. " Has anything occurred 
to disturb him ? '* 

Once more the goat played an accom- 
paniment to the conversation, but with no 
more than a casual glance at the performer 
Mrs, Oakhurst replied that the Colonel was 
not disturbed but excited by the surprising 
activity of the goat + 

iC Then I gather that you have never had 
a goat in here before ? ,J asked Lord Bamp- 

,J Not that I remember/' said Mrs, Oak- 
hurst , " but you must not for a moment, one 
single moment, imagine that I object. I 
adore all animals, and so docs Gwendolen /' 

What Lord Bampton said then was a 
proof of his real passion, for during one 
terrible moment he feared it was obscuring 
his discretion* The behaviour of Colonel 
Oakhurst in allowing valuable and beautiful 
things to be destroyed by a goat, so distinctly 

The sound that proceeded from the piano seemed 
to excite his curiosity." 

out of place in a drawing-room, could pos^ 
sibly be understood. A wild military experi- 
ence might account for much. But when 
Mrs. Oakhurst and Gwendolen as well 
displayed neither distress nor anxiety, even 
when the animal became musical, it opened 
to the lover the awful possibility of the 
whole household being alike afflicted. And 
yet it could not be ! In town Gwen had 
spoken as if her father was capable on 
occasions of going directly contrary to all 
the dictates of reason. And was this not 
common in fathers, to say nothing of men 
generally ? Lord Bampton accordingly put 

hesitation aside 
and seized the 
happy moment, 

li You may 
have heard it 
stated that I am 
somewhat eccen- 
tric— |p 

; Oh, no/* said 
M r s + Oakhurst. 
I cannot credit 
that I " 

*' I have known 
it said/' declared 
Lord Bampton* 
But I am only 
simple and direct, 
I shall be so now, 
1 wish to be al- 
lowed to pay my addresses to your daughter. 
One moment, I beg ! In London I ad- 
mired her beauty and the eager interest 
she shared with me in music, but since 
observing in her whole family such a delight- 
ful sympathy with the animal kingdom, I 
own I am entirely conquered. May I reckon 
upon your assistance and that of Colonel 
Oakhurst in the achievement of my dearest 
wishes ? " 

And while Mrs* Oakhurst was expressing 
her sincere pleasure at the prospect Gwen- 
dolen was arguing with her outraged father. 

,h By Jehoshaphat, the man's mad I " 
said the Colonel, as he rubbed his head with 
a rough towel; ' mad, mad as ten thousand 
hatters I " 

,k Oh, no, he is only a little eccentric, ,P 
urged his daughter, " And mother says she 
thinks he has done it to try us/' 

M To try us ? " roared the Colonel, " What 
the devil — — " 

" To find. out if we really love animals/' 
said Gwen, eagerly, 

" You go in and tell him I loathe 'em— — hP 
" Do, do be patient, dad. He's really 
such a dear. See how sweetly calm he is 
through it all/' 

" Look here! I'm your poor old father, 
and I like to behave decently, but if you 
talk ^^.^.^1^^^,^^ me mad. 

Morley Roberts 


D'ye Want me to have apoplexy ? Calm 
through it all ! My Venetian mirror ! My 
great-grandfather's table and a goat ! Tell 
him I won't stand it. I won't ! Don't 
you see # I can't? Calm, is he ? Would he 
be calm if I visited his house with an 
unbroken jackass ? " 

" Oh, father, but this is only a sweet 
little goat," said Gwen. " He is teally a 

" No," said the Colonel. " I may be mad 
and Lord Bampton may be madder, but I 
am not so mad as to think a goat is a duck. 
You ain't thinkin' of marryin' him after 
this, Gwen ? " 

" Oh, yes, I am," said Gwen. 

" Don't," said her father, " doit't ! I beg 
you not to. A man that will bring a goat 
into an inoffensive stranger's house would 
put rattlesnakes into a baby's cradle. 
What's your mother doin' ? " 

" She's so calm, so sweet," said Gwen. 
" Do, do be patient, father dear, and it will 
all come right. Please come back now. If 
you don't he'll think you didn't like hiiji ! 
Oh, even when the goat jumped over 
mother's head she never turned a hair. 
She — she was quite majestic ! " 

•* Was she now ? " asked the Colonel, as 
he threw the towel into the corner. " She 
was majestic ! And am I to be maiestic 
too ? " 

" Yes," said Gwen, " do, do try ! " 

" Very well," said her father, in sudden 
gloom. " Come in and see me tryin'. 
Majestic ! Oh, lord ! " 

THEY were just in time to see Mrs. Oak- 
hurst trying to be majestic, and making 
very little of it. Although she sustained 
the conversation with serious sweetness during 
the absence of her husband and daughter, 
it was, as she owned later, a very considerable 
strain on her not to turn round while the 
goat broke the three lower glass doors of an 
eighteenth-century bookcase, while she dis- 
coursed to Lord Bampton about Gwen and 
the pictures in the room. But when Mrs. 
Oakhurst left her seat to point out a drawing 
attributed to Turner, the goat, having 
finished his work among the books, made 
three successive bucks and charged the 
mistress of the house from behind. 

" Majestic ! " said the Colonel. " That's 
your word, Gwen 1 " 

" Oh ! " said Mrs. Oakhurst. 

" I trust most sincerely you were not 
hurt," said Lord Bampton, saving her from 
a fall. 

" No, not in the least," said Mrs. Oak- 
hurst, gasping, but recovering herself with 
great rapidity. " I don't suppose the dear 
creature meant any harm. It's — it's 
his play." 

" That's it," said the Colonel, thickly, 
" it's only his play." 

Any further remarks on the part of the 
Colonel were stayed by the goat assaulting 
the window. 

v " He seems to wish to go into the garden," 
said the guest. " Perhaps it might be as 
well to let him out." 

" It's a very fine garden," said the Colonel, 
" and in perfect order, quite perfect. That's 
my beastly gardener's fault. I hate order 
myself. What I like is ruins, complete, 
majestic ruins ! But my gardener doesn't. 
He's a very arbitrary gardener, there's no 
making him see reason. That goat will be 
a dead goat if you let him out." 

" Do I gather you would rather the goat 
remained here ? " said Lord Bampton. 

" Oh, no," said the Colonel; " he seems 
cramped here. Would you like him to look 
at the rest "of the house ? " 

" That is as you please, of course," said 
the guest. "Do you usually let goats go 
everywhere, or do you keep them to this 
particular room ? " 

"I don't keep 'em anywhere," said the 
Colonel, choking. " They only come in as 
visitors — just as visitors." 

" Yes, only as welcome visitors," said 
Mrs. Oakhurst, eyeing her husband anxiously. 

" Just as occasional visitors," said Gwen- 
dolen, sweetly. " Do you allow them all 
over your house, Lord Bampton ? " 

" I beg your pardon ? " said Lord Bampton. 
" Do I allow goats all over my house ? Oh, 
no, never ! I don't in the least mind what 
they do elsewhere, but I draw the line there." 

The Colonel jumped to his feet. 

" Father ! " said his daughter. 

" I can't be majestic any more," roared 
the Colonel. " I must speak, I must ! 
What's more, I will. Do you mean to say. 
Lord Bampton, that you never allow your 
goat to enter your house ? Do you mean 
to tell us that you are so confoundedly 
unkind to a precious pet like a half-grown 
billy-goat as never to let him wreck a room 
full of valuable furniture, never to climb 
upon the mantelpiece, never to smash a few 
ancient mirrors, and, most of all, never to 
butt a visitor from behind ? " 

" Certainly not," said Lord Bampton, 
warmly. " I am, I may say, notoriously 
fond of animals, but though it affords me no 
inconsiderable pleasure to see others even 
more attached and devoted to them, the 
very last thing I myself should allow is a 
goat, however well-bred, to be in any of 
my own rooms. What goats, or other pet 
animals, do in other houses is, of course, a 
matter of perfect indifference to me." 

"Stop," said Colonel Oakhurst ;" stop 
before I break a blood-vessel ! Perfect in- 
difference 3 IVfy hat I " 


The Egregious Goat 

The Colonel's agitation was now so obvious 
that it would have been ill-breeding on the 
part of the calmest nobleman in the kingdom 
not to notice it. Lord Bampton did notice it. 

" Did I say anything particularly remark- 
able ? " he asked, with perhaps a tinge of 
rebuke in his voice. 

" Oh, no ! " said the Colonel. " After all 
that's happened, what you said in the way 
of not carin' a continental if I had a house 
over my head or not seemed, like a long 
drink on a hot day I But, by this goat and 
all the goats that ever reared overerid in a 
cabbage garden, there's nothing more to be 
said. It's no go. It can't be done. I won't 
allow it, I'd rather die first." 

" Than do what, dad ? " asked Gwen. 

The Colonel gasped, and again tugged at 
his collar. 

" You — you know ! You can't marry 
Lord Bampton, you can't. I won't have it. 
He's mad, mad, quite mad ! " 

Mrs. Oakhurst rose in haste. . Gwen made 
a step towards her lover, who looked the 
picture of well-bred amazement. After his 
own apparently sound doubts of the Colonel's 
entire sanity it was strange to discover that 
for some peculiar reason his own was doubted. 

" Oh, father ! " said Gwen. 

" Oh, Tom ! " said his wife. 

" Don't Tom me ! " roared the Colonel, 
savagely. " I forbid it, all of it. I won't 
have it. Mad, mad as a hatter I " 

LORD BAMPTON perceived that he was 
u in an awkward situation. He therefore 
sought to temporize with the Colonel, 
knowing that to contradict a maniac in the 
acute stage was, by those best acquainted 
with the insane, considered both useless and 
dangerous. It seemed possible to the guest 
that he had unwittingly shown disapproval 
of the goat being in the drawing-room. He 
hastened to remove this impression. 

" Perhaps I was wrong in saying some- 
thing which seemed to imply a lack of 
feeling for this poor animal," he said, very 
earnestly. . " I assure you, Colonel Oak- 
hurst, that when I said that what it did 
here was a matter of indifference to me I by 
no means meant that I was not charmed and 
interested by it. I trust you will not think 
me inconsiderate to animals." 

Colonel Oakhurst went the colour of an 
oak-tree in autumn. 

" Look here ! " he said, and then stopped 
to catch his breath. 

" Pray continue," said Lord Bampton. 

" Take your damned goat out of my 
house," roared the Colonel, " or by the 
Holy Poker I'll get a gun and shoot it ! " 

" Take whose goat ? " asked Lord Bampton. 

"Whose goat ? Whose goat ? " repeated 
the Colonel. 

" Yes». whose ? " 

" Yours ! Yours ! " said the Colonel. 

And Lord Bampton, for the first time 
losing the calm which became him so well, 
sat down in the nearest chair with a positive 
thump. The goat came up to him, and his 
lordship absolutely glared at it. 

" My— my goat ? " 

" Yes. Take it away, take it away quick ! 
Before I explode," said the Colonel. " Or 
else I'll do your cursed pet a mischief." 

And Lord Bampton fairly collapsed. 

" It's not my goat," he said. " Oh, no, 
it's not mine ! I never saw the awful animal 

" You never — never saw it before ? " 
asked the Colonel, in a curious choked whisper. 

" Never, never ! " said his lordship. " Why, 
naturally enough, I thought it was yours ! " 

It was the Colonel's turn to sit down. 
He did so, and opened- his mouth three times 
before he could speak. 

" Oh, you thought it mine, did you ? " 
he asked. " May — may I ask if you thought 
. I was twice as mad as a March hare ? " 

" The possibility never entered my head," 
said Lord Bampton, earnestly. " I merely 
thought that your choice of a household pet 
was uncommon and the latitude you gave it 

The Colonel mopped his face. 

" But — but it came in with you," he 
urged. " I saw it myself." 

" So did your butler," replied Lord 
Bampton, " but that doesn't make him my 
butler. If I had come in with a tiger after 
me, would that have made him my tiger ? 
Ot course, I thought it was your goat." 

" Then — then whose goat is it ? " asked 
the Colonel, fiercely. " If Benson can't tell 
me he'll be no one's butler in two shakes of 
a lamb's tail ! Let me get at him ! " 

And then Gwen, who had been speechless, 
burst into laughter, and interrupted her father 
at the door. 

" Dad, didn't you tell poor Benson that 
Lord Bampton loved pets, and that if he 
brought one it was to come into this room ? " 
she asked. 

"You did, Tom," said Mrs. Oakhurst; 
" yes, you did ! " 

" So I did," said the Colonel, " so I did ! 
But I never, never, never reckoned on a 
goat ! Look at the fiend now ! He's eating 
my old Persian rug. Let him ! What's it 
matter ? " 

But it did matter, for the goat was dis- 
appointed with green worsted, and eyed the 
whole party with malignancy. 

" I apologize, Lord Bampton," said the 
Colonel. " I apologize humbly, and more 
than humbly. I— I " 

" Don't mention it," said Lord Bampton. 
" I have a confession to make." 


Morley Roberts 

The Colonel dtdo't deliver ihe goods. The goat did that.'* 

The Colonel started. 

" Look here, you ain't by any chance goin' 
to say it's your goat after all, are you ? I 
tell you I couldn't, couldn't bear it ! pt 

" No, Colonel Gakhurst," said Lord 
Bampton. 4 * But you seem to know that 
I came here to ask permission to pay my 
addresses to Miss Qakhurst. I confess such 
a question would have been disingenuous, 
since I have her permission to ask for her 


" My — my hat ! " said the Colonel. 
don't say so ! " 

u . I do say so," replied Lord Bampt<n, 

" Speak, Tom, speak/' said Mrs, Oakhurst. 

But the Colonel couldn't speak. He looked 
round, and, catching Owen's beaming eye, 
saw the only thing to do. He took her hand 
and made a step towards Lord Bampton, 
But he didn't deliver the goods. The goat 
did that. 

(For reasons which will he obvious to those who remember her 
letters — and particularly one written in 1:738 to the Duchess 
of For Hand — this little story is inscribed to the charming 
memory of Elizabeth Montagu f Queen jf the Elm-Stockings.) 


A Man ofXetters 

,*** '■**■***■■*- 


» HMpaff ^ " * ■"* 

/\ LING to Annie 

* Phelps, 

My Dear Annie, >^ 

I got into an awful ****»,, 

funny mood lately, Youl **■ 

think Im barmy. It comes over me 
like late in the evenin when its gettin dusky. 
It started I think when I was in Egypt. 
Nearly all us chaps who was out there felt 
it a bit 1 think. When you was on sentry 
go in the dessert at night it was so quite 
and missterius. You felt you wanted to 
know things if you know what I mean, 
Since Ive come back and settled in the 
saddlery again I still feel it most always. 
A kind of discontented funny feelin if you 
know what I mean. Well old girl what I 
mean is when were spliced up and settled 
over in Tibbelsford I want to be good for 


X i 




Alfred Codling, 

you and I want to 
know all about 
things and that. 
Well Im goin to write 
to Mr, Weekes whose a 
gentleman and who lives in 
a private house near the church. 
They say he is a littery society and if it be so 
lm on for joinin it. Youl think Im barmy 
wont you. It isnt that old dear. Me that 
has always been content to do my job and 
draw my screw on Saturday and that, 
Youl think me funny. When you% T e lived 
in the dessert you feel how old it all is. You 
want something and you dont know what 
it is praps its just to improve yourself and 
that* Anyway there it is and I'll shall 
write to ham. See you Sunday* So long 
dean Alf. 

Alfred Codling to James Weekes. 
I )i:ar Sir, 
Someone tells me you are a littery 
society in Tibbelsford, In which case may 
I offer my services as a member and believe 

Your obedient servant 

Alfred Codling, 

Pendred Castaway {Secretary to James Weekes) 
to Alfred Codling, 
Dear Sir, 

In reply to your letter of the 17th inst,. 
I beg to inform you 
that Mr. James Weeke? 
is abroad. I will com- 
municate the contents 
of your letter to him. 

Yours faithfully. 
Pendred Castaway. 

Annie Phelps to Alfred 
My Dear Alf. 
You are a dear old 
funny old bean. What 
is up with you. I ex- 
peck you are just fed 
up* You havent had 
another touch of the 
fevei have you. I \wll 


Stacy Aumonier 


come and look after you Sunday. You" are 
a silly to talk about improvin considerin the 
money you are get tin and another rise next 
spring you say, I expeok you got fell up in 
the dessert and that didnt you, 1 ex peck 
you wanted me sometimes eh ? I should nt 
think the littery society much cop 
myself* I can lend you some books. 
Cook is a great reader, She has 
nearly all Ethel M, Dells and niost 
of Charles Garvice. She says she 
will lend you some if you promis- to 
cover in brown paper and 
not tare the edges. They 
had a big party here over the 
weekend a curnel a bishop 
two gentleman and some 
smart women one very nice 
she gave me ten bob. We 
could go to the 
pi C 1 11 r i come 
Wendesday i f 
agreeble, Milly 
is walkin out 
with a feller over 
at Spindlehurst 
in the grossery 
a bit flashy I 
dont like him 
much. Mrs. 
Vaughan had 
one of her at- 
tacks on Mon- 
day- Lord she does get on my nerves when 
shes like that. Well be good and cheerio 
must now close. Love and kisses till 
Sunday. Annie. 

James Weekes {Malaga, Spain), to At/red 
Dear Sir, 

My secretary informs me that you w r ish 
to join our literary society in Tibbelsford. 
It is customary to be proposed and seconded 
by two members. Will you kindly send me 
your qualifications ? 

Yours faithfully, 

James Weekes. 

Alfred Codling to Annie Phelps, 
My Dear Annie, 

Please thank cook for the two books 
which I am keepin rapt up and will not 
stain. I read the Eagles mate and think 
it is a pritty story. As you know dear I 
am no fist at explaning myself. At the 
pic t urs the other night you were on to me 
again about gettin on and that. It isnt 
that. Its difficul to ex plane what 1 mean. 
I expect I will always be able to make 
good money enough. If you havent been 

thro u it you cant know what its, like. 
Its sortie thin else I want if^ you know 
what I mean. To be honest ;I did not 
like the picturs the other night. I thought 
they were silly but I like to have you 
sit tin by me and to holding your hand* 
If I could tell you what I 
mean you would know. I have 
herd from Mr, Weekes about 
the littery and am writin off 
at once. Steve our foreman 
has got sacked for pin chin 
1 ether Been goin on for 
years so must close 
with love till Sunday. 


Annie Phelps, 

Alfred Codling to James Weekes, 
Dear Sir, 

As regards your communication you 
ask what are my qua) HA cations. I say I 
have no quallincations sir nevertheless 1 am 
wishful to join the littery. I will be candid 
with you sir. I am not what you might 
call a littery or eddicated man at all, I am 
in the saddlery. I was all throw Gallipoli 
and Egypt, 1/corporal in the 2/ 15th Mounted 
Blurashires. It used to come over me like 
when I was out there alone in the dessert. 
Prehaps sir you will understand me when I 
say it for I find folks do not understand me 
about it not even the girl I walk out with 
Annie Phelps who is as nice a girl a feller 
could wish, Prehaps sir you have to have 
been throw it if you know what I mean. 
When you are alone at night in the dessert 
its all so big and quite you want to get to 
know things and all about things if you 
know what 1 mean sir so prehaps you will 
pass me in the littery. 

Your obedient servant, 

Alfred Codling, 

Annie Phelps to Alfred Codling. 
Dear Alf, 

You was funny Sunday, I don't know 

wh *F!R# ^iefeff ver used to * 


A Man of Letters 

like that glum I call it. Is it thinking about 
this littery soc turnin your head or what, 
Milly says you come into the kitchin like a 
boiled oul you was. Cheer up dear till 
Sunday week* Annie. 

James Weekes, to Alfred Codling. 
Dear Sir, 

Allow me to thank you for your charming 
letter. I feel that I understand your latent 
desires perfectly, 1 shall be returning to 
Tibbelsford in a Peek's time, when I hope 
to make your acquaintance. I feel sure that 
you will make a desirable member of our 
Literary Society, 

Yrs. cordially, 

James Weekes* 

J ante & Weekes to Samuel Ckilders. 
My Dear Sam, 

1 received the enclosed letter yesterday, s 
and hasten to send it on to you. Did you 
ever read anything more delightful ? We 
must certainly get Alfred Cod- 
ling into our society. He sounds 
the kind of person who would 
make a splendid foil to old 
Baldwin with his tortuous meta- 
physics — that is if we can only 
get him to talk. 

Yours ever, 

J- W. 

Samuel Ckilders to James Weekes. 
My Dear Chap, 

You are surely not serious 
about the ex-corporal ! [ show ed 
his letter to. Fanny. - She simply 
screamed with laughter. But, 
of course, you mean it as a joke 
proposing him for the "' littery/* 
Hope to see you on 
Friday. - J 

Ever yours, j 

S. C 

Alfred Codling to 
Annie Phelps. 
My Dear "Annie, 

I was afraid- you would 
begin to. think J I .was barmy 
dear I r always said so but you 
mustnt take it. like that. It is 
difficult to tell you about but 
you know my feclins to you is 
as always. Now I have to tell 
yon dear that I have seen Mr. 
Weekes he is a very nice old 
gentlemen indeed he is very 
kind he says I can go to his Pendred 

hous anytime and read his books he ha* 
hundreds and hundreds. I have newer seen 
so many books you have to have a 1 add 1*1 
to clime up to soine of them he is very 
kind he says he shall proppose me for the 
littery soc and I can go when I like he 
ast me all about mysel and that was -Very 
kind and pleesant he told me ail about 
what books I was to read and that so I 
think dear I wont be goin to the picture 
Wendesday but will meet you by. the Fire 
statesion Sunday as usual your lovin 

t ■ Alf. 

Ephraim Baldwin to James Weekes. 
My Dear Weekes, 

I'm afraid I cannot understand your 
attitude in proposing and getting Childers 
to second this hobbledehoy called Alfred 
Codling. I have spoken to him, and I am 
quite willing to acknowledge that he may be 
a very good young man in his place. But 
why join a literary society ? Surely we 
want to raise the intellectual standard erf 
the society, not lower it ? He is abso- 
lutely ignorant He knows nothing 
at all. Our papers and discussions 
will be Greek to him, If you wanted 
an extr;i hand in your stables, or a 
jobbing gardener, well and good, but 
I must sincerely protest against this 
abuse of the fundamental purposes of 
our society. 

Yours sincerely, 

Ephraim Baldwin, 

Fan ny Ch ilders to 
Ehpeth Priichard. 
Dear Old Thing, 
I must tell you 
about a perfect 
scream that is hap- 
pening here, You 
know the Tibbelsford 
terary society that Pa 
belongs to and also Jimmy 
Weekes ? Well, it's like 
this. Dear old Jimmy is 
always doing something 
eccentric. The latest thing 
is he has discovered a 
mechanic in the leather 
trade with a soul! (I'm 
not sure I ought not to 
spell it the other way,) 
He is also an ex-soldier 
and was out in the East. 
He seems to have become im- 
bued with what they called 
" Eastern romanticism. 1 ' Any- 
way he wanted to join the 
Castaway. ri §d&&Jt§rp nrtnd old Weekes 


Stacy Aumonier 


rushed Pa into seconding him, and they got 
him through. And now a lot of the others 
are up in arms about it — especially old 
Baldwin — you know, we call him " Per- 
manganate of Potash. 1 * If you .saw him 
you'd know why, but I can't 
tell you. I have been to two 
of the meetings specially to 
observe the mechanic with the 
soul. He is really quite a dear, 
A thick-set, square - chinned 
little man 
with enor- 
mous hands, 
with a heavy 
silver ring on 
the third 
finger of his 
left, and tat- 
too marks on 
his right 
wrist. He sits 
there with 
his hands 
spread out on 
his knees and 

stares round at the members 
as though he thinks the} 1 ' are 
a lot of lunatics. The first 
evening he came the paper 
was on M The influence of 
Erasmus on modern theology," 
and the second evening * The 
Drama of the Restoration/' No 
wonder the poor soul looks be- 
wildered. He never says a word. 
How is Tiny ? I WM in town on Thursday 
and got a duck of a hat. Do come over 

Crowds of love. 


James tt'ephes to Alfred Codling. 
My Dear Codling. 

I quite appreciate your difficulty. 1 
would suggest that you read the following 
books, in the order named. You will find 
them in my library : — 

Jevons's JC Primer of Logic," 
Welton's " Manual of Logic/' 
Brackenbury's 4i Primer of Psychology/' 
and Professor James's " Text- book of 

Do not be discouraged* - 

Sincerely yours, 

J. Weekes. 

Annie Phelps to Alfred Codling. 
Dear Alf, 

I dont think you treat me quite fare 
you says you are sweet on me and that and 
then you go on in this funnv way. It isnt 

Vol WL-C 

my fait that you got the wind up in Egypt* 
I dont know what you mean by all this. 
I wish the ole littery soc was dead and finish. 
Cook says you probily want a blue pill you 
was so glum Sunday. Dont you see all these 
gents and girls and edicated coves 
are pullin your leg if you dont 
know \\]\ai they talkin about and 
that your just ma kin a fule of 
yourself and 
jS^" s then what 
about me you 
dont think of 
me its makin 
me a fule too. Milly 
says she would en t 
have no truck with a 
book lowse so there 
it is, Annie. 

James Weekes. 

Alfred Codling to 

James Weekes. 
Dear Sir, 

I am much 
obUdged to you for 
put tin me on them 
books. It beats me 
how they work up 
these things I'm 
afeard I am not 
scollard enough to 
keep the pace with 
these savins and that. 
Its the same with the 
littery. I lissen to the 
talk and sometimes I think Ive got it and 
then no. Sometimes I feels angry with the 
things said I know the speakers wrong but I 
cant say I feel they wrong but I dont know 
what to say to say it. Theres some things to 
big to say isnt that sir. Im much oblidged 
to you sir for what you done. Beleive me I 
enjoy the littery altho I most always dont 
know the talk I know who are the rite ones 
and who are the rong ones. If you have 
been throw what I have been throw you 
would know the same sir. Beleive me your 
obedient servant, 

Alfred Codling, 

Epkraim Baldwin to Edwin J ope {Secretary to 
the Tibbelsford Literary Society), 
Dear Jope, 

For my paper on the 19th prox, I pro- 
pose to discuss " The influence of Hegel ism 
on modern psychology/' 

Yrs. ever, 

Ephraim Baldwin. 

Edwin J ope to Ephraim Baldwin. 
Dear Mr, Baldwin*, 

I have issued the notices of your forth- 



A Man of Letters 

coming paper. The subject I am sure will 
make a great appeal to our members and I 
feel convinced that we axe in for an illu- 
minating and informative evening. With 
regard to our little conversation on Wednes- 
day last, I am entirely in agreement with 
you with regard to the quite inexplicable 
action of Weekes in introducing the 
f * leather mechanic " into the society. It 
appears to me a quite superfluous effrontery 
to put upon our members. We do not want 
to lose Weekes, but 1 feel that he ought to 
be asked to give some explanation of his 
conduct. As you remark, it lowers the 
whole standard of the society. We might 
as well admit agricultural labourers, burglars, 
grooms p and barmaids, and the derelicts of 
the town, T shall sound the opinion pri- 
vately of other members. With kind regards, 
Yrs. sincerely, 

Edwin Jope. 

Annie Phelps to Alfred Codling. 

All right then you stick to your old 
littery. I am sendin you back your weddin 
ring you go in and out of that place never 
thin kin of me. Aunt said how it would be 
you goin off and cetterer and get tin ideas 
into your head what do you care 1 doant 
think you care at all I expeck ycu meet a 
lot of these swell heads these men and 
women and you get talkin and thin kin you 
someone, All these years you away I wated 
for you faithful] I 
newer had a thowt 
for other fellers and 
then yon go on like 
this and treat me in 
this way. Aunt says 
she wouldnt put up 
and Milly says a 
book lowse is worse 
than no good and so 
I say goodbye and 
thats how it is now 
forever you have 
brokken my hart. 

Annie Phelps to 
A If red Codling, 

I cried all nite 
I didnt mean quite 
all I says you know 
how I mene dear 
Alf if you was only 
reesonible I doant 
mind you goin the 
littery if you eggs- 
plain yourself. For 
gawds sake meet me 


tonight by the fire stachon and eggsplain 

Your broke hearted 


James Weekes to Samuel Childers. 
My Dear Sam, 

I hope Harrogate is having the desired 
effect upon you, I was about to say that 
you have missed few events of any value or 
interest during your absence, but I feel 1 
must qualify that statement. You have 
missed a golden moment. The great Bald- 
win evening has come and gone, and I deplore 
the fact that you were not there. My sense 
of gratification, however, is not due to 
Ephraim himself, but to my unpopular 
protegi and white elephant — Alfred Codling. 
I tell you, it was glorious ! Ephraim spoke 
for an hour and a half, the usual thing, a dull 
rechauffe of Schopenhauer and Hegel, droning 
forth platitudes and half-baked sophistries. 
When it was finished the chairman asked if 
anyone else washed to speak. To my amaze- 
ment my ex-lance-corporal rose heavily to 
his feet. His face was brick -red, and his 
eyes glowed with anger. He pointed his big 
fingers at Ephraim and exclaimed, ** Yes, 
talk, talk, talk— that's all it is. There's 
nothing in it at all/' and he hobbled out of 
the room (you know he was wounded in the 
right foot). The position, as you may 
imagine, was a little trying. I did not feel 

in the mood to stay 
and make apologies. 
I hurried after Cod- 
ling, I caught him 
up at the end of the 
lane* I said, " Cod- 
ling, whv did vou do 
that ?" He' could 
not speak for a long 
time, then he said, 
"I'm sorry, sir. It 
came over me like, 
all of a sudden." We 
walked on, At the 
corner by Harvey's 
mill we met a girL 
Her face was wet — 
there was a fine rain 
falling at the time. 
They looked at each 
other, these two, 
then she suddenly 
threw out her arms 
and buried her face 
on his chest, I real- 
ized that this was no 
place for me, and 
I hurried on, The 
iginalfrcff# owin e morning I 

Stacy Aumonier 

received the enclosed letter. Please return 
it to me. 

Yrs. ever, 


Alfred Codling to James Weekes* 
Dear Sir, 

Please to irrase my name from the 
littery soe, I feel I have treated you bad 
about it but there it is. 
I appollogize to you for 
treatin you bad like this 
that is all I regret. You 
have always been kind and 
pleesant to me lendin me 
the books and that. I shall 
always be grateful to you 
for what you have done. 
It all came over me sudden 
like last night while that 
chap was spoutin out about 
what you call physology. 
I had never heard tell on 
the word till you put me 
on to it and now they all 
talk about it. I looked it 
up in the dicktion and it 
says something about the 
science of mind and that 
chap went on spoutin about 
it. I had quarrel with my 
girl we had newer quarrel 
before and I was very down 
abowt it. She is the best 
girl a feller could wish and 
I have always said so. Somehow last night 
while he was spoutin on it came over me 
sudden I thowt of the nights I had spent 
alone in the dessert when it was all quite 
and missterous and big. I had been throw 
it all sir I had seen my pals what was alive 
one minnit blown to peices the next I had 
tramped hunderds of miles and gone with- 
out food and watte r I had seen hell it sel sir. 
And when you are always with death like 
that sir" you are always so much alive you 
are alive and then the next minnit you 
may be dead and it makes you want to feel 
in touch like with everythin. You cant hate 
noone when your like that you tliink of the 
other feller over there whose thin kin like 
you are pre haps and he all alone to loo kin 
up the blinkin stars and it comes over you 
that its only love that holds us all together 
love, and nothin else at all my hart was 
breakin thin kin of Annie what I had treated 
so bad and what I had been throw and 
he went on spoutin and spoutin. What does 
he know about physology. You have to had 
been very near death to find the big thing 
thats what I found out and I couldnt tell 
these littery blokes that thats why I lost 
mv temper and so please to irrase me from 

Digitized by G 

the soc. They cant teach me nothin that 
matters. Ive seen it all and I cant teach 
them nothin because they havent been 
throw it* What I have larnt is sir that 
theres some thin big in our lives apart 
from get tin on and comfits and good times 
and so sir 1 am much oblidged for all you 
done for me and except my appology for 
the way I treat you- 

Your obedient servant, 

Alfred Codling. 

James Wsekes io Edwin 
Dear J ope, 

In reply to your letter, 
I cannot see my way to 
apologize or even to dis- 
sociate myself with the 
views expressed by Mr. 
Alfred Codling at our last 
meeting, consequently I 
must ask you to accept my 

Yours vy truly, 

James Weekes, 


to Edwin 



Dear Jope, 

Taking into considera- 
tion all the circumstances 
of the case, I must ask you 
to accept my resignation from the Tibbels- 
ford Literary Society* 

Yrs, faithfully, 

S. Childers. 

Annie Phelps to Alfred Codling. 
My Dear Alf, 

Of course its all right I am all right 
now dear Alf I will try and be a good wife 
to you I amnt clevver like you with all 
your big thowts and that but I will and be 
a good wife to you Aunt Em is goin to give 
us that horse haii r and mother says therell 
be twenty five pounds comin to me when 
Uncle Steve pegs out and he has the dropsie 
all right already, What do you say to AperiJ 
if we can git that cottidge of Mrs Plummers 
mothers see you Sunday, 

xxxxxxxxxxxx love from 


Ephraim Baldwin to Edwin Jope t 
Dear Mr. Jope, 

As no apology has been forthcoming to 
me from any quarter for the outrageous 



A Man of Letters 

insult I was subjected to on the occasion of 
my last paper, I must ask you to accept my 

Yrs. faithfully, 
Ephraim Baldwin, O.B.E. 

Alfred Codling to Annie Phelps. 
My Dear Annie, 

You will be plaesed to hear they made 
me foreman this will mean an increas and 
so on I think April will be alright Mr. Weekes 
sent me check for fifty pounds to start 
farnishin but I took it back I said no I 
could not accep it havin done nothin to 
earn it and treatin him so bad over that 
littery soc but he said yes and he put it in 
such a way that I accep after all so we 
shall be alright for fernishin at the present. 
He was very kind and he says we was to go 

to him at any time and I was to go on 
readin the books he says I shall find good 
things in them but not the littery soc he 
says he has left it hisself I feel I treated him 
very bad but I could not stand that feller 
spoutin and him newer havin been throw it 
like what I have. That dog of Charlys killed 
one of Mrs. Reeves chickins Monday so 
must now close till Sunday with love from 
Your soon h us ban (dont it 
sound funny ?) 


Edwin Jape to Walter Bunning. 
Dear Sir, 

In reply to your letter I beg to say that 
the Tibbelsford literary society is dissolved. 
Yrs. faithfully, 

E. Jope. 



A bishop's motto and a soldier's fame 
Inspire our boys to work, and play the game. 

1. One word the grain and chaff will separate ; 
Two words will make success immediate. 

2. Give island head ; and further hints we note 

In words that rhyme with clock, and shell, and goat. 

3. Riches and shrub will show, when mixed up well, 
His other name, if truth traditions tell. 

4. An active quadruped you first select ; 
Part of the head, and all its tail reject. 

5. The word recalls a deed of bygone days. 
So it united follows in the phrase. 

6. Choose the right foreign port ; then may be seen 
Three English ones in battle, this, and queen. 

7. Descent unbroken may a hint convey, 
Therefore a monarch makes it clear as day. 

8. When ancient eighth is of a fifth bereft, 
The twentieth of present day is left. 

9. Twelve-lettered adverb acts most suitably 
Till guessed ; the central third alone we see. 

10. For forty days an English Lent will last ; 
Some thirty days Mohammedans will fast. 

Answers to Acrostic No. 96 should be addressed to the 
Arrostic Editor, Thk &TBA5D MaqaOXB, Southampton 

Street, Strand, London, JF.C.2, and must arrive not later 
than by the first post on July 9th. 

Two answers may be sent to every light. 

It is essential that solvers, with their answers to this 
acrostic, should send also their real names and addresses. 

Answer to No. 95. 

The men who fought to save it should not lack 
A home like this at least when they come back. 

1. This is truly laughable. 

Beef discolved and qu affable. 

One and individual. 

One from one — residual ? 

Head-tire of nobility. 

Floor-mat of utility. 

This, for days long past, I call 
Just a shade bombastical. 




3. U 

4. N 



o m i 


o u gh 

i ar 




Solvers who write to the Acrostic Editor and desire 
answers to their queries should enclose a stamped addressed 
envelope with their letters, and he will endeavour to reply. 

by Google 

Original from 


s as 




Regius Professor of Natural History in the University of Aberdeen. 

THERE are a few fishes that make 
nests, like the stickleback, and in 
the case of the whimsical sea-horse 
the father fish carries the eggs 
about in his breast-pocket until they are 
safely hatched, but the great majority of 
fishes lay their eggs in the water and care 
nothing for their fate. To care about them 
were at once needless and impossible — 
needless because \here are so many, that, 
even if the, infantile mortality is great, 
there are plenty of survivors left to continue 
the race with vigour ; and impossible for 
the same reason, that no parent could show 
care for hundreds of thousands of eggs and 
offspring. They say that the codfish has 
two million eggs and the conger-eel ten 
million, and what is one mother among so 
many ? 

The Spawning Solution. 

If a race is going to continue, there must 
be some way of circumventing the chances 
of death, of getting across the perilous Mirza 
bridge with its many traps, and one of the 
ways is to have a huge number of offspring. 
This is the spawning solution of the problem, 
and we see it very well illustrated every 
Spring in the common frog, which produces 
a thousand or ten thousand eggs. These are 
often laid in very unsuitable places, as if 
the mother had not much instinct, and the 
chances against their becoming tadpoles, 
and against the tadpoles becoming frogs, are 
prodigious. Yet there are plenty of frogs ; 
the js pawning solution works well. 

A Better Way. 

But there is a better way of securing 
survival, and that is by parental care. Whv 

Digitized by L»< 

it is better will become clearer later on, but 
it is plain that if the Surinam toad, which 
carries its eggs in little skin-pockets on her 
back, secures the continuance of the race 
with one hundred eggs and young ones at a 
time, that is vastly more economical than 
the common toad's method of circumventing 
the chances of death by producing many 
hundreds* It is not suggested that the 
toads deliberate over the alternatives ; it is 
rather that different kinds of constitution 
lead to different experiments, which are 
tested by their degree of success. It is very 
interesting, however, to find that while 
amphibians as a whole adhere to the spawning 
solution, there are numerous queer experi- 
ments in the direction of parental care. 
Thus some tree-frogs make a nest of leaves ; 
in the case of Darwin's frog (Rhinotrema), 
from South America, the father carries about 
a dozen eggs in his mouth ; and in more than 
one kind (e.g., Nototrema) there is a brood- 
pocket — like a far-off hint of a kangaroo's — 
on the mother's back. 

Getting on to Terra Firtna. 

It was a great event in the history of back- 
boned animals when certain adventurous 
pioneers conquered the dry land. Some 
fishes tried it, like the mudfishes ; some 
amphibians tried it, like the toads, which 
are more or less free from the water after 
their tadpole-stage is past ; but the first 
backboned animals to become thoroughly 
terrestrial were certain reptiles. From them 
there evolved the modern reptiles, the birds, 
and the mammals. Everyone is clear that 
sea-snakes and turtles are reptiles that have 
gone back to the waters, and that the same 



Birds as Parents 

is true of birds like penguins and mammals 
like whales. As it is put technically, they 
are Ji secondarily aquatic." 

The Need for Cure. 

Now, getting on to dry land had many 
important consequences, and one was that 

1. — SanoU Martins' burrows. 

it became necessary in a new way to look 
after the eggs and the young. For it was 
no longer possible to lay the eggs and deposit 
the young just anyhow, as was possible in 
the sea where the water provided a universal 
cradle. On the bare ground the eggs would 
be dried up and the young ones - devoured ; it 
is necessary to take care, to bury the eggs, 
to lay them in inaccessible or well -hidden 
nests, to keep the young ones for a long time 
within the mother's body, to carry the 
infants about —in short, to practise parental 
care. The greater the parental care, the 
fewer offspring were required to keep the 
stock agoing, and — these things work round 
in circles— the fewer the offspring, the easier 
for the mother to take care of them. To 
put it in another way, the race of birds, for 
instance, was continued by types which had 
progressed in two directions at once — 
reduction in the size of the family and 
increase of parental care, 

Ne«U and Nests. 

There are plenty of nests on the ground, 
like the lark's, and others in burrows, like the 
sand-martin's (Fig. i), but the typical nest is 
a cradle aloft, and, when one comes to think 
of it, it was surely a brilliant new idea to 
construct a cradle in a place away from the 
Hangers of the ground, where the parent 
bird can brood undisturbed and where the 

nestlings can be nurtured in safety until they 
are able to take wing. How many pictures 
of nests crowd into the mind ! The sea- 
swallow (CollocaHa) makes a nest like a 
half-cup of frosted sugar out of the hardened 
salivary juice of its mouth, and fixes it to 
the precipitous walls of sea-caves in the 
Far East — the well-known 
" edible bird's-nest/' a 
delicacy to the Chinese 
palate (Fig, 2). The long- 
tailed tit builds in a bush 
a globular nest almost 
entirely composed of 
feathers (Fig. 3), and it 
may gather far over two 
thousand before it is 
satisfied with its beau- 
tiful work of art. The 
oven-bird [Furnarius) of 
South America builds a 
clay nest as big as one's 
head in the fork of a 
tree ; the door is rather 
to the under side, and 
leads into an empty room ; 
above this is an upper 
chamber comfortably up- 
holstered — the nest proper 
where the eggs are laid. 
They say that the cock 
bird requires the assist- 
ance of several wives in building the two- 
roomed nest, 

Weaver-Bird and T«ilpr-Bird, 

What a masterpiece is the hanging nest of 
the weaver-bird, dangling at the end of .* 
branch projecting, it may be, over a pool. 
There is a long entrance-tube like the leg of 
a stocking, up which the little bird climbs; 
then there is an expansion to one side and a 
bending downwards of the nest proper, as 
if the foot of the stocking were inflated. 
The whole is a little like a chemists retort 
with the tube hanging vertically downwards. 
There is no risk of the eggs tumbling out, 
and there is almost no chance of monkey or 
snake getting at the nest. When the nest 
is being woven from strips of grass -leaf and 
the like, one of the birds may be seen inside 
the tangle passing the thread through to its 
mate outside. Hardly less striking is tt>p 
behaviour of various tailor- birds, who pass 
grass -leaves through little holes made along 
the margin of two or three leaves, binding 
them firmly together, and then proceed to 
build the nest proper inside (Fig. 4). But we 
must tear ourselves away from nests arid 
pass to other expressions of parental care. 

The Patience of the Brooding Bird. 

In some snakes of the python family the 
mother coils heir great length around the eggs, 


- I 

J. Arthur Thomson 


and this approaches the brooding 
so characteristic of birds, The uses 
of brooding or incubation are (i) to 
supply from the parent's body the 
warmth that favours the develop- 
ment of the embryo within the egg, 
a function that is helped by the 
non-conducting materials of or in 
the nest ; (2) to hide the eggs and 
nestlings from the eyes of enemies ; 
and (3) to shelter the young birds 
from the heat of the sun, which 
tries some of them sorely. Some 
details are interesting. Thus there 
are some birds, e.g., albatross and 
penguin, which show bare patches 
where the eggs come into direct 
contact with the warm skin ; some 
brooding birds, e,g ir snipe, increase 
their inconspicuousness by putting 
soil on their back ; some close- 
sitting birds, like the partridge, give 
forth no scent when on the nest, so 
that even a clever dog will pass 
repeatedly close by the brooding 
bird in the root of the hedge without 
showing any awareness ; some birds, 
e.g., eider-duck, draw a coverlet 
over the eggs when they leave the 
nest. Little items of this sort are 
important, for they keep us from 
taking too easy-going a view of the 
process of incubation. So much of 3, The globular neftt of the Long-Tailed Tit is 

the business has passed into the a [ moH ent i re [ y exposed of feathers, 

domain of instinc- 
tive routine, that 
the bird may be- 
have quite stupidly 
when brooding. 
Thus many a 
pigeon will fail to 
notice its eggs if 
removed to a dis- 
tance of a foot 
from the nest, and 
many another wilt 
go on slavishly sit- 
ting on nothing. 
But such facts do 
not reveal the 
heart of the 
matter ; they sim- 
ply mean that in 
normal conditions 
there is very little 
risk of anything 
going wrong, so 
that the more auto- 
matic the brooding 
becomes the better 

2.— The Sea^S wallow * nest is that well-known Chinese delicacy, the for all parties* In 

edible birdVnest. some birds, e.g. t 

|£y nerm&avm »/ the IHrtcton •/ the Natural HiMvry Mu»Bum. l /Q^ n j p a | f pQ pn hombiil, albatrOSS, 




Birds as Parents 

4. The Tailor-Bird' 6 nest is built within 

leaves bound together along the margin 

with grass* 

and eagle-owl T all the brooding is on the 
mother's part ; in other cases, e.g., emu and 
grey Phalarope, it is all on the father's 
part : in ostrich and oil-bird the female sits by 
^^^^^ day and the 

maleby night, 
while pigeons 
illustrate the 
method of ir- 
regular alter- 

5. Young Lapwings hatched 

at an advanced stage of develop- 
ment begin very early to tend 
for themselves. 

Feeding the 

When the 
young birds 
are batched at 

an advanced 
stage of de- 
velopment, as 
i n lapwings 
and chickens, 
they begin 
very early to fend for themselves, and the 
feeding problem is easy (Fig. 5). But when 
the young birds are hatched as helpless nest- 
lings, the labour of feeding them is often great. 
Professor Robert Newstcad calculated that a 
single pair of gTeat tits must be credited with 
the destruction of between seven and eight 
thousand caterpillars during the twenty days 
occupied in rearing their young. In the 
majority of cases the male bird does more 
than his share, and it is an interests 

)iaitized bvAjir 

that some males, €.g, t snipe, which absent 
themselves during the brooding period, 
return to duty when the young ones are 
hatched. What a quaint picture some of the 
Antarctic explorers have given us of the 
penguins toiling up the steep ice-cliff with 
their crops heavily laden with small shrimp- 
like crustaceans which they have collected 
for their offspring- — sometimes so heavily 
laden that they lose it all in the course of 
their climb. 

The Story of the HornbilL 

There are many different kinds of horn bill 
with different domestic habits, but the story 
is often as follows. At the breeding time the 
female bird, by no means in her usual form, 
finds a nesting-place in a hollow tree (Fig. 6). 
Her mate closes up the entrance with clay 
and resinous stuff and other materials — 
often a very queer mixture — to which he 
adds the slimy juice of his salivary glands* 
Thus he narrows the doorway so that no 
obtrusive monkey can put in his paw, and 
so that his imprisoned wife can shut the 
door with her bill when she pleases, On 
the male bird there then devolves the duty 
of collecting food for the female, and, by 
and by, for the single offspring as well. He 
collects fruits and seeds and insects, and the 
varied meal is served through the doorway 
in sausage-like packets, for the stuff is 


/ 1 


' J 





The Hombill visiting his imprisoned 

male \n ,1 hoh m a tree, 


J. Arthur Thomson 


The Young Storm- Petrel '■ MeaL 

Xs* curious case is that of the 
storm -petrel, the well-known bird of 
the open sea, that only comes to 
land to breed. The single egg is 
laid, in a hole among the rocks, or 
perhaps in the disused burrow of a 
rabbit, and the parent bird sits 
close. When the young one is 
hatched out the parents seem to 
leave it all the day long, for they 
are nervous of the laud. They 
return tp it at nightfall, however, 
and give it a heavy meal of oil 
from their crop apparently the. 

7* — Woodpeckers and their young 

bound together by a secretion from 
the male horn bill's crop. The female 
becomes very plump, the male gets 
thinner and thinner. It is such 
hard work that if the weather be 
bad he sometimes dies of over- 



Some people think pigeon's milk 
js a natural history joke, but it is 
a convenient name for the creamy 
material which both male and 
female pigeons give to their very g, 

young squabs. Its particular virtue 
is that it is very readily digested ; 
it serves like mammal's milk, for 
the education, so to speak, of the food- 
canah But what is pigeon's milk ? It is 
often described as a secretion of the walls 
of the crop f but that is not quite accurate* 
It is produced by a fatty degeneration 
and internal moulting of the cells lining 
lIic crop, A familiar sight it is to see both 
parents giving this curious food to their 

by Google 

An interesting model showing how the Hoopoe 
makes its neat. 

{Bit ptrmiutian t>J tftt fitrtciwi u/ tht jYadirwl It Matt/ }ttutum.) 

residue of many little crustaceans and other 
small fry of the open sea. 

Fitnesses of Nettling*. 

There are some interesting adaptations 
on the part of nestlings that make feeding 
easier. In many cases, especially when the 
parent-birds have to go to and fro hundreds 
of times ,m .a.. day.. ..rath tiny mouthfuls of 



Birds as Parents 

insects, it is very important that the moment 
of feeding should be as brief as possible* 
3o the nestling opens its month, not volun- 
tarily, but reliexly (as we draw back our 
finger from something very hot), when its 
bill is touched with the food its parent 
brings ; and it is highly probable, as Mr- 
\Y\ P, Pycraft suggests, that the occasionally 
bright colour of the nestling's mouth may 
facilitate the precision of the parent's touch, 
es pecial lyindimlight* V u in bli n g is ou t of the 
question, There is no end to the subtlety of 
parental-care adaptations* How fit it is that 
young woodpeckers (Fig. 7}, hatched out in 
a deep hole in a tree, should have their 
juvenile claws and muscles well suited for 
clambering up to the entrance, thus to 
receive with the least possible loss of time 
what their parents bring. How admirable, 
on the other side, the fact that certain birds 
of prey, hunted off their nest, will drop 
carrion on their young ones. It is almost 
too good to be true* 

Sanitary Measures. 

Besides keeping the nestlings hidden, 
warm, and well-fed, the parent- birds have a 
more commonplace 
task which onlv a 
few T neglect — keeping 
the nest clean. They 
often remove the 
voided matter in 
their bills, an opera- 
tion made easier by 
a thin pellicle of 
mucus, which forms 
a sort of delicate 
bag, They may even 
hold the young ones 
in such a position 
over the edge of the 
nest that all fouling 
is avoided* Nature 
is oil for health ! 
There are, of course, 
some repulsive nests, 
like that of the beau- 
tiful hoopoe (Fig. 8), 
smelling of ordure, 
rancid butter, am- 
monia, and musk; 
s urel y de 1 i be rate , i n 
any case an exreption 
that proves the rule. 
One knows, of course, 
that the scrupulous- 
ness with w h i c h 
most birds remove all 
trace of foulness from 
the nest, and some- 
times from the vicinity of the nest, is an 
instinctive piece of behaviour established in 
the course of time not merely in relation 

Digitized by C.OOgle 

9, The Great Crested Grebe get* her young- 
sters on her back and dives, thus forcing them 
to become at home in the water. 

to health, but to conceal the whereabouts 
of the family. 

Educating the Young. 
It has been proved for chicks, and less 
fully for some other young birds, that they 
are not rich in inborn or instinctive capacities 
— not rich as compared with ants and bees. 
Thus the newly-hatched chick, undoubtedly 
thirsty and quite willing to swallow drops of 
water brought to its bill, will walk through 
a saucer of water without becoming aware 
of its significance. But Professor Lloyd 
Morgan's experiments show that if the chick 
happens to pick its toes when it is standing 
in the unrecognized or unrealized water, it 
suddenly becomes aware, and drinks, raising 
its bill to the sky. Hut the }>oint is that it 
has no instinctive recognition of water as 
such, nor even of the meaning of its mother's 
u cluck " if it has been hatched out in a 
mechanical " foster-mother/' What it lacks 
in the way of inborn instinctive endowment, 
as compared with an ant or a bee, it makes 
up for by its extraordinary power of rapid 
u learning," It has marvellous educability. 
Hence the importance of the instruction 

which many parent- 
birds give their 

The solicitous hen 
teaching her chickens 
to scratch and peck, 
teaching them also 
what certain calls 
mean, is a familiar 
illustration of what 
often happens. Some- 
times, it is true, the 
young bird requires 
no instruction in 
regard to certain 
parental calls, but 
obeys them instinc- 
tively, without know- 
ing why. Thus the 
young redshank 
squats at a particular 
signal from its parent, 
and remains motion- 
less until another 
call breaks the in- 
stinctive spelL 

Young birds serve 
an apprenticeship in 
the art of life, but 
there is often direct 
parental teaching as 
well. Thus the parent 
guillemots and razor* 
bills encourage their 
offspring by example and precept to take the 
first plunge from the cliff into the sea Some- 
times one sees signs of coercion. Peregrine 


J. Arthur Thomson 


falcons and some other birds of prey appear 

t<f give their young ones lessons in the 

subtleties of flying and in the tactics of the 

chase. The great crested grebe gets her 

youngsters on her back and dives, thus 

forcing them to become at home in the water 

(Fig, 9)* When ducklings are ready to leave 

the nest 

the mother 

anoints them 


with the oily 

secretion of 

her preen- 


they are not 

wetted when 

they take to 


Defence of 

the Young. 

Few birds 
have much 
chance when 
the nest is 
directly at- 
tacked, un- 
less indeed they can enlist the help of their 
neighbours to drive off an intruder, as cliff- 
swallows a hawk. There are cases, however, 
where a vigorous defence Gf the nest is 
attempted. Thus the cormorant (Fig; io), 
nesting on the shelf of the s£a -cliff, resents 
an intruder's approach, hissing violently, and 
lunging with its formidable beak. Some 
of the birds of prey strike at men, and a 
swan puts up a strong defence; Black- 
headed gnlls and lapwings fl£ close ^to j one's 
face if one draws too near the nest, and 
the eider-duck has a very unpleasant way 
of expressing her resentment at being dis- 
turbed. 5 

When defence of the nest is quite out of 
the question because of its position- — on the 
ground, let us say, or because of the nature 
of the bird — recourse is sometimes had to 
wiles. The redshank is extraordinarily suc- 
cessful in leading one astray -^-one would be 
provoked if it were not admirable— aiid the 
devices of the lapwing are familiar. Very 
remarkable is what looks ' like feigning 
lameness or a broken wing. If it is not a 
trick, it is almost uncannily like one. 

In rare cases the parent- bird has been 
known to shift its eggs, the goatsucker 
taking them in its capacious mouth. A 
transport of nestlings to a place of safety 
has been occasionally recorded; as in the 
eagle-owl, and it is not very uncommon in 
the woodcock (Fig. ii). How. the woodcock 
carries its young ones has been much dis- 
cussed ; it is probably correct to say that 
they are pressed between the thighs, and 

Digitized by UOO^Ic 

Cormorants' nests on the shelf of a cliff. 

that the long bill may also be used to steady 

The Behaviour of Mound-Birds. 
Although a bird may skip brooding alto- 
get he r, it is not necessarily without parental 
care. Take the case of the mound -birds or 
rnegapods of the Far East — called megapods 

(big - footed) 
because o f 
their heavily 
built legs, 
which are 
capable of 
very vigor- 
ous digging. 
One of these 
b i r d s, the 
m a I e o o t 
often makes 
its nest in 
the dry vol- 
canic sand 
near the 
shore. A pair 
of them dig 
a hole about 
a yard deep 
and a yard in diameter, and in this the 
mot her- bird lays an egg and covers it with 
sand. They then return to the forest. At 
intervals extending over a considerable time, 
they come back to the shore, and the hen 
lays egg after egg till there are eight or more. 
Then the hole is filled up and the precious 
pair retire for good to the forest, and trouble 
no more about the matter. There is perhaps 
no food for them near at hand, and in any 
case there is no need for them to stay* The 
warmth of the sun-baked dry sand is sufficient 
to allow the embryo to develop, and the sand 
is loose enough to let air in to the eggs. It 
must be an awkward place to be bom in, 
beneath the ground, but the young mound- 
bird manages to struggle out safely. Some 
young mound-birds are probably unique 
among birds, in being able to fly on the day 
of their birth, but we believe the young 
maleo is only able to run. In any case, 
running or flying, the newly-hatched maleo 
makes for the shade as quickly as possible. 
We wonder what the parents say to their 
children when they meet them ? There must 
be some need for introductions, 

Tkc Thermometer Bird. 

This curious name is given to a South 
Australian mound-bird {Lipoa oceUata), whose 
behaviour makes a good climax to our story. 
The birds choose a clearing in the low bush, 
where there is loose sandy soil, and the 
clearing must be open to the sun (to the 
north or east), and it is usually protected 
from the prevailing wind by bushes. The 



Birds as Parents 

two birds take time by the forelock, and 
begin operations long before the breeding 
season. First of all they dig a circular pit 
about a foot deep, piling up the scratehed-out 
earth in an outer rampart. In the circular 
pit they make a heap of withered leaves 
and other parts of plants, the collecting of 
which means heavy work and terrific scratch- 
ing, The heap may be two feet or more in 
height. The next step is to suspend opera- 
tions. The collection of leaves and twigs is 
left for four or five months to soak in the 
rain, and it begins to decay- But after a 
while the third chapter begins, The birds 
make a firm nest 
or egg - chamber 
in the centre of 
the compost-heap. 
It has walls of 
interlaced twigs 
and fibres, and a 
floor of mixed 
sand and plant- 
re ma ins, what 
might almost be 
called vegetable 
mould. Over 
this a mound of 
leaves and twigs 
is, piled up till it 
stands about a 
yard high and 
has a diameter 
of perhaps four 
yards. Sand is 
thrown all over 
it, the whole 
business involving 
hard work and 
much time. The 

fourth chapter begins six to nine days after 
the completion of the mound. The builders 
return to the scene of their labours and open 
the mound carefully, making a gallery near 
the top, so that the nest is reached. In the 
nest the hen lays an egg, fixing it upright, 
broad end up, in the mould, and staying it 
with twigs. Then the mound is made tidy 
and off they go. Every three or four days 
about nine o'clock in the morning they turn 
up at the mound and open it again to get at 
the nest, in which the hen places another egg t 
At length there are about fourteen eggs, in 
three tiers, four or five in each tier, all in the 
same position, and all securely fixed. If 
the arrangement is disturbed, the mother- 
bird puts it right again. She is very 
punctilious. The mound is closed up, of 

I L— How the Woodcoc 

\fijf fMTmiHfeii vf the Rvdminltm Libraw.) 

course, after each egg*laying, and it is 
finally left more or less alone, though the 
birds keep an eye on it all the time, The 
heat of the sun promotes fermentation 
among the leaves, and the temperature rises 
to over ninety degrees Fahrenheit. If the 
weather is very wet (the eggs are laid in the 
rainy season) some thatching material is 
put on the top of the mound, If the weather 
is very warm the temperature of the mound 
is apt to rise too high, but the birds attend 
to this by opening up and loosening the 
material around the egg -chamber, To this 
extraordinary carefulness they owe the name 

'* Thermometer 
Bird/' They are 
also careful to 
secure good ven- 
tilation, for the 
embryos would die 
if there were not 
plenty of air in 
the egg-chamber, 
Indeed, they dodie 
of suffocation if 
some accident be- 
falls their parents 
and the hill be- 
comes sodden* 

The yon n g 
birds have a pro- 
longed develop- 
ment of about 
forty -five days 
within the egg, 
and they are very 
vigorous when 
they are hatched. 
They wrestle up- 
wards out of the 
egg-chamber and out of the mound, and 
make for the bush with all haste. After 
a while they get off the ground on to the 
trees, which must be a great relief, This is 
only a glimpse of an extraordinary story, 
but we have told enough to prove that a 
bird which does not brood may nevertheless 
show a wonderful subtlety of parental care. 
Looking backwards over our story, and 
thinking of the nest- ma king and the brood- 
ing, the feeding, the education, and the 
defence of the young, and remembering that 
it would take a thousand and one nights to 
tell the story adequately, must we not admit 
that the amount of time and energy that 
birds spend in activities not directly self- 
preservative, but in the interests of their off* 
spring, is worthy of reasonable admiration? 

k carries its young ones. 

by Google 

Original from 



holding official posi- 
little unsociable, and 

w as ex- 
comfortable on board 
the steamship Qmata t 
homeward bound 
from Toulon to Til- 
bury, His state-room 
was very much to his 
liking; the boat was 
clean and not over- 
crowded, the bar- 
tender was a human 
person with an under- 
standing touch upon 
the cocktail shaker. 
The people on board, 
mostly Anglo-Indians 
tions, were perhaps a 

preserved for the most part that reserved 
demeanour usual amongst travellers who have 
had the ship to themselves throughout the 
voyage towards intruders who have embarked 
at the last port of call . Nevertheless, Mr. Cray, 
who had been asked to take a vacant place 
at the captain's table, found no lack of society. 
There was a compatriot of his own, a manu- 
facturer of reaping machines, who had just 
paid an extended and profitable visit to the 
East, and who was always ready to talk 
business or to recount his doings in some of 
the more adventurous cities ; also a young 
invalided officer from the Indian Army, with 
his delicate sister, an interesting but rather 
pathetic couple, who had seemed grateful 
for Mr, Cray's cheerful conversation. There 
was also a middle-aged lady, returning from 
her travels, who boasted that she had been 
in every country of the world — a stalwart 
and determined -looking personage, who 
usuallv wore masculine clothes, smoked very 
strong cigarettes, and who had looked from 





' ; ; No. IX. 


m m^^^m^ mmm m waaiMflMHi i 

the first with eyt*; of 
distinct favour upon 
Mr. Cray's pink-and- 
white opulence. This 
lad y , in f ac t — Mrs . 
Richard Green by 
name — threatened to 
be the only drawback 
to an exceedingly 
pleasant five days. 
Already Mr. Cray was 
beginning to + ake note 
of her advances with 
a vague feeling of un- 

" You seem to me, 
Mr. Cray," she said, 
dragging her chair 

over to his side on the evening after his arrival, 
"tobea man who is in need of sympathy/' 

Mr. Cray looked at her furtively. She 
was about his own height and figure ; she 
wore a grey felt hat, perfectly unadorned, 
jammed down over her head ; her tweed 
skirt barely reached half-way between her 
knees and her sturdy ankles. Her eyes, 
perhaps her best feature, were dark and 
brilliant. Her cheek-bones were a little 
high, her jaw-bone bespoke determination. 
She was not a woman to be trifled with. 

Hr Sure ! NP Mr, Cray assented, weakly. 
" We all need that. I guess I get on pretty 
well, though." 

" I suppose you think you do/ 1 Mrs* 
Richard Green rejoined, reprovingly. " You 
men never know when you* re well off, and 
you never know when you're badly off. 
You're a poor sort of creature anyhow, to go 
wandering about the world by vourself/' 

"I'm not always alone/* J Mr. Cray pro- 

11 And who is your travelling companion 
when you are not ? ,J she demanded. 

Copyright, 19*1, by E. Phillips OppeQllfiL) H 3 1 frOITl 



Mr. Cray's Adventures 

" Sometimes my wife." 

Mrs. Richaft Green glared at him fero- 

" So you are a married man, eh ? " 

" I am," Mr. Cray admitted, feeling, for 
the first time for many years, comfortably 
resigned to the fact. 

" Where's your wife, then ? " his neighbour 

" In Indiana, U.S.A.," Mr. Cray replied. 
" She prefers to remain there." 

Mrs. Green seemed somewhat mollified. 
Indiana, U.S.A., was a long way off. 

" And meanwhile you go gadding about 
with any hussy who happens to smile at 
you ? " she asked, sternly. 

" I don't know as that's quite fair," Mr. 
Cray protested. " Young ladies are very 
pleasant companions sometimes, but " 

" I saw that yellow-headed minx making 
googly eyes at you at dinner last night," 
Mrs. Green declared. " Just the sort of 
baggage you men find attractive, I sup- 

" I don't even know whom you mean," 
Mr. Cray expostulated. 

" Calls herself a colonel's wife ! " Mrs. 
Richard Green scoffed. 

Mr. Cray brought up his reserves. 

" What about your husband ? " he in- 

" Dead," was the uncompromising reply. 
" I buried him fourteen years ago. Since 
then I have led a lonely life." 

" You must have done some wonderful 
travelling," Mr. Cray observed. 

" I have indeed," she admitted. " I have 
been into countries where no woman has 
ever before set foot. I have shown the world 
what courage can do. Although I have 
travelled alone and unprotected, no man has 
ever dared to molest me." 

" You must be very brave," Mr. Cray 

" The man who raised his hand against 
me would be braver still," she asserted. 

" I can well believe it," he agreed, fervently. 

" At the same time," she continued, after 
a moment's pause, during which Mr. Cray 
had been taking notice of her square-toed, 
masculine shoes, her thick worsted stockings, 
and massive limbs, the shape of which was 
imperfectly concealed by the rather tight 
jersey and loose skirt, " I am free to admit 
that the time has come when I am a little 
weary of my travels. I propose to settle 
down in London, make friends, and lead a 
domestic life. For the first time for many 
years I find myself free, and disposed to seek 

41 Very agreeable," Mr. Cray murmured. 

" I have the name," she continued, edging 
her chair a little closer to his, " of being a 
man-hater. I am nothing of the sort." 

Digitized by OOOQ Ic 

Mr. Cray expressed his relief. 

" We're pretty harmless, take us all 
round," he ventured. 

" You may or may not be," the lady 
replied. " I have never allowed a man to 
take any liberties with me. I don't trust 
them. At the same time," she went on, " a 
man has his place in a woman's life, and 
because I have chosen to keep him outside 
mine for the last fourteen years, that does 
not necessarily mean that I intend to pre- 
serve the same attitude for the rest of my 
life. The contrary is the case. I intend to 
cultivate men friends." 

" You may marry," Mr. Cray suggested, 
trying hard to keep his end up. 

Mrs. Richard Green looked at him very 

" I may," she admitted. " On the other 
hand, I may not. I am a woman who is 
free from all prejudices. Travel has broad- 
ened my mind. My outlook is different 
from other women's. Marriage has its 
advantages and disadvantages. Besides, 
the person whom I might choose as 
a companion," she went on, still looking 
fixedly at Mr. Cray, " might be a married 

" Sure ! " Mr. Cray assented, a little 
shaken. " There are many who aren't, 
though," he went on, with a sudden access 
of cheerfulness ; "in fact, London's full of 
them Never knew a place where there were 
so many middle-aged bachelors." 

" When I fix my affections upon a man," 
Mrs. Green said, firmly, " his state will make 
no difference t9 me. Married or single, I 
shall have him. If the law cannot join us, 
I shall make my own law. That is the sort 
of woman I am, Mr. Cray. That is the 
sort of spirit which has brought me safely 
through savage countries." 

MR. CRAY made frantic signals of dis- 
tress to the manufacturer of reaping 
machines, who was just passing. The 
latter responded like a man. 

" We are waiting for you forward, Mr. 
Cray," he announced. " Number one is in 
the shaker." 

Mr. Cray struggled hastily to extricate 
himself from the rug which enveloped his 
lower limbs. 

" I'll be with you right along," he declared, 
staggering to his feet. " You'll excuse me, 
Mrs. Green." 

" And what may this number one signify ? " 
the lady asked, disapprovingly. 

" Qur first cocktail before dinner," Mr. 
Cray explained. " I guess I'm rather a 
sinner so far as that sort of thing is con- 
cerned," he went on, guilefully. " I try to 
keep myself down to three before dinner, but 
it's very often five, or even six." 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 

6 3 

"It is a habit of which you must be 
broken/ 1 Mrs, Green said, sternly. 

Mr. Cray staggered off* He passed his 
arm through his friend's. With the other 
hand he felt his forehead, half expecting to 
find drops of perspiration there. 

*' Gee, but that's some woman, sir! " he 

His companion grinned. 

11 I heard her asking questions about you. 
She's got your number all right, Said she 
liked your mild voice and pink -and -white 

" Let's get right into the bar," Mr, Cray 
insisted nervously, hurrying along. 

AT dinner-time that evening Mr. Cray 
received a further shock. In the chair 
exactly opposite his own, which had 
been vacant since Toulon, he discovered 
Mrs. Richard Green. 

M I have changed my place/' she an- 
nounced, graciously, " I thought I should 
like to come to your table/' 

I gue« I'm rather a sinner in so far as cocktails are tot* :mncd/ Mr, Cray went on." 



Mr. Gray's Adventures 

The captain, seated a few places away, 
smiled. The young invalid officer exchanged 
a glance of amusement with his sister. The 
manufacturer of reaping machines, who was 
at a table some distance away, rose and 
telegraphed his congratulations across the 
room. Mr. Cray, without knowing exactly 
why, felt his savoir faire deserting him. The 
fact that he ate his soup in stony silence did 
not seem in any way to trouble his opposite 
neighbour. She eyed with calm and pro- 
prietary approbation his well-fitting and 
carefully-brushed dinner suit, his very hand- 
some pearls, and well-tied bow. She herself 
was appearing in very different guise. Her 
skirt was still of the order called serviceable, 
but she wore a blouse of a shimmery magenta 
colour, long amber earrings, and a necklace 
of uncut stones of barbaric character. Her 
closely-cropped black hair defied any attempt 
at ornamentation, but in the front it showed 
signs of straying over her massive forehead 
in the form of a fringe. Mr. Cray, notwith- 
standing his qualms, could scarcely keep his 
eyes off her. The muscular development of 
her arms was wonderful. She ate her dinner 
with the calm and healthy appetite of a 
woman sure of herself and her path in life. 
The captain made a polite effort to engage 
her in conversation. 

" They tell me, madam," he said, " that 
you have been a great traveller." 

" I have visited every country in the 
globe," she replied. " I have faced savages, 
wild animals, and Government House dinner- 
parties. I am now on my way home to 
settle down." 

She looked hard at Mr. Cray, who writhed 
in his seat. 

" You will be writing another book of 
travels, I suppose ? " the captain remarked. 

" In due course," Mrs. Green assented. 
" I shall first seek for an honest publisher. 
The sales of my last volume were most dis- 

THE captain, who felt that he had done 
his duty, turned to another of his 
neighbours. The young officer addressed 
Mr. Cray. 

" You are just from the Riviera, sir, are 
you not ? " he inquired. 

''From Monte Carlo," Mr. Cray told 

Mrs. Green frowned slightly. 

" I look upon the Riviera," she declared, 
" as a place for idle people to indulge their 
extravagant habits. A most enervating 
climate, too." 

Mr. Cray remembered that he was a man, 
and a citizen of the United States. 

" I would sooner spend the winter in Monte 
Carlo than anywhere else in the world," he 
said, firmly. 

Digitized by dOOgle 

Mrs. Green showed no signs of annoyance. 
Her smile, indeed, was maddeningly tolerant. 

" Well," she remarked, " under certain 
conditions I dare say I should be inclined to 
modify my impressions of the place. I have 
no conscientious objections to a little mild 
gambling. I occasionally indulge in a game 
of cards myself. But extravagance is a vice 
to which I have the strongest objection." 

" Extravagance," Mr. Cray pronounced, 
" is what you might term a relative quality. 
In my younger days I worked hard and 
established a successful business. I have 
only one daughter and no other near rela* 
tives. It gives me pleasure to spend my 

" A very bad example to others," Mrs, 
Green said, severely. 

" Guess the others can take care of them- 
selves," Mr. Cray observed. " I was nevei 
meant to be a shining light." 

" What you need," Mrs. Green began, 
por ten to usl y 

" Is another pint of that champagne, 
James," Mr. Cray interrupted, valiantly 
turning to the steward. " Madam," he 
added, looking across the table, " I confess 
that I am a black sheep. I have every bad 
habit under the sun — and I like my bad 

Mrs. Green was sorrowful but unperturbed, 

" You are a very interesting man," she 
declared, toying with her huge beads and 
smiling across the table. " I am seriously 
thinking of taking you in hand." 

Mr. Cray's heart sank within him. The 
woman was like a Colossus. Nothing could 
move her. He had the sensations of a man 
pursued by some irresistible force. Mrs. 
Green lifted her voice, and laid down benefi- 
cent but somewhat arbitrary laws as to how 
a man should live. Mr. Cray listened in 
rebellious silence. 

" Your great country, Mr. Cray," she 
wound up, " has shown the world what it 
thinks of liquor." 

" In her way she has," Mr. Cray acknow- 
ledged. " In my small way, I shall continue 
to show the world what I think *qf it. 
Steward, hurry up with that wine." 

Mrs. Green shook her head, but her smile 
was indulgent. She had the air of a mother 
watching the antics of a refractory but 
fascinating child. 

" Obstinate ! " she murmufed-. " We will 
have a little talk after dinner, Mr. Cray. I 
will make you a little coffee up on deck." 
-" I never drink coffee," her victim lied. 
" I always take brandy after my meals." 

" In time," Mrs. Green warned him, "the 
indulgence in spirits to that extent will com- 
pletely destroy the lining of your stomach." 

" Mine," Mr. Cray assured her, recklessly, 
" is lined with asbestos.' 1 

u\ I I '.' I I I 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 


" You remind me," she said, pensively, 
" of a black man on the West Coast of Africa, 
whom I treated with medicine of my own 
concoction. His sufferings were terrible." 

" I can well believe it," Mr. Cray assented, 

" Nevertheless, I cured him," she con- 
tinued, with a note of triumph in her tone. 
" He died soon afterwards of another com- 
plaint. Curiously enough, his savage rela- 
tives were so incensed against me that I had 
to leave the neighbourhood before I had con- 
cluded the notes of my visit." 

Mr. Cray gulped down his wine, bowed to 
the captain, and stood up. 

"Guess it's a bit close down here," he 
muttered. "I'll take a turn on deck, and 
a cigar." 

" It. is the excessive quantity of wine you 
have drunk compared with the small quantity 
of food you have eaten," Mrs. Green de- 
clared. *" " No wonder you are giddy ! Would 
you like me to accompany you ? " 
t "By no means,'.' Mr. Cray replied, em- 
. piratically, as he made his hurried exit. 

MR. CRAY was, without doubt, in some 
respects a weak man. He had conceived 
a positive dislike for Mrs. Richard 
Green, and he had abandoned a certain 
portion of his dinner sooner than be tor- 
mented, any longer by her conversation. 
Yet when, a quarter of an hour later, by a 
strategic flank movement, she ran him to 
earth in a retired portion of the ship, he 
was utterly unable to say those few rude but 
firm words which he had been repeating to 
himself ever since his escape. 
; "I have set the coffee machine going," 
she announced, " and the steward is bringing 
us, some cups. I am making it a little 
stronger than usual on your account. If you 
feel in the least unsteady, let me take your 

, " I am quite all right, thank you," Mr. 
Cray assured her. " You'll excuse me if I 
seem ungracious, but coffee always keeps me 

" Mine" won't," was the firm reply. "If 
you stay awake to-night it will be because of 
the wine you've drunk, or because you've 
Something on your conscience. Mind that 
coil of rope." 

Mr. Cray was on the point of surrender 
when a saviour appeared. . The invalided 
young officer emerged from the smoke-room 
and touched him on the arm. 
, " We are waiting for you, Mr. Cray," he 
announced, " You haven't forgotten our 
little game of poker ? " 

Mr. Cray's wit was as ready as his sense of 
relief was great. He felt Mrs. Green's hand 
go out towards him, and he broke away. 

" For the moment I had forgotten it," he 

Vol. Ixti.— 5. 

confessed. " I must ask you to excuse me, 
ma'am. I have promised to play poker with 
these boys." 

" You can play afterwards," she objected. 

" They're delicate young men," Mr. Cray 
explained ; " all go to bed early. You'll 
excuse me." 

Mr. Cray dived into the smoking-room and 
Mrs. Green went on towards where her 
coffee-machine was simmering upon the deck. 

" You're a good Samaritan," the former 
declared. " I don't know what's got that 
woman, but she's a holy terror. . . . Why, 
you've got a little game of poker," he went 
on, in a tone of surprise, as he noticed three 
other young men seated at a table in a corner 
of the room, counting out chips. 

His companion assented. 

" It's a very small game," he explained, 
as he led the wa,y. " My name is Esholt — 
Captain Esholt — just invalided out and going 
home to look for a job. My three friends are 
Mr. Graham, Captain Thomson, and Mr. 

The three shook hands with Mr. Cray, who 
sat down genially amongst them and gave 
lavish orders to the expectant steward. 
They were all very much of the same type as 
Esholt himself. One of them had been in 
the Indian Army with Esholt, and the other 
two, after a period of service, one in Meso- 
potamia and the other in Egypt, had recently 
been demobilized. 

" We play quite a small game," Captain 
Esholt repeated, a little nervously. " The 
fact of it is, we are all of us pretty hard up. 
We ante two shillings, if you don't mind." 

" Quite enough," Mr. Cray agreed. " I 
/ike a small game. I'll take five pounds' 
worth of chips. What's the limit, anyway ? " 

" Well, we've never made one," the other 
replied. " We just double, and we don't get 
very far on that. Straddle when you like, 
and jack-pots for full hands or better." 

" Let her go," Mr. Cray declared, lighting 
a fresh cigar. " Just the sort of game I like." 

The game proceeded for some time with 
varying fortunes. Mr. Cray, aware of a 
certain tenseness on the part of his com- 
panions, which seemed to him inexplicable 
in view of the smallness of the stakes, played 
with an indifference which resulted, as is 
usually the case, in his steadily winning. 
During one of those brief periods when he 
was out of the game he leaned back and took 
stock of his fellow-players, curiously at first, 
and then sympathetically. They were all 
apparently under thirty, they were all either 
slightly maimed or with partially broken 
health. Esholt had already confided to him 
his fears as to securing a berth with his old 
company, and neither of the others seemed 
much more sangmne as to his chances of 
making a fresh start in life. .. Mr. Crav looked 



Mr. Cray's Adventures 

down at his chips and won- 
dered how to get rid of 
them. Presently he found 

Esholt was the dealer, 
Thomson was next to him, 
and Mr, Cray next. Mr. 
Cray straddled Thomson's 
arrte, and these two and 
the dealer alone remained 
in. Thomson took one card, 
Mr. Cray kept an ace and 
drew four. Esholt bet, 
Thomson doubled. Mr. 
Cray, picking up his cards, 
found that amongst the 
four he had draw r n were 
another three aces. He 
doubled again, and Esholt 
went out. Thomson hesi- 
tated* The amount now in 
front of him was sixteen 
-.hilling, and it required 
another sixteen to see Mr. 
Cray's bet. 

" I'd go quietly, young 
man, if J were you/' the 

latter warned him. u I've the biggtst hand 
we've seen to-night." 

There was a spot of colour in Thomson's 
pale cheeks, He looked at Mr. Cray with a 
queer little twitch of the lips. 

I don't want to know about your hand/' 
he said, roughly. " How do I know you're 
not bluffing ? Anyway, I'm seeing your 
thirty-two and raising it the limit." 

" Sixty-four to see, eh ? " Mr. Cray re- 
marked. " Well, make it a hundred and 

' Two hundred and fifty-six/' was the. 
prompt rejoinder; 

-i Sorry/' Mr. Cray replied. " Five hun- 
dred and twelve." 

f ' Fifty pounds," Thomson almost shouted. 

Mr. Cray shrugged his shoulders. 
' Fifty pounds," he declared, -l is a great 
deal of money at this little game, I shall see 

He laid down his four aces. Thomson, 
with trembling fingers, spread out the two, 
three, four, five, six of spades, Mr. Cray, 
after a moment's amazed silence, laughed 
good-naturedly and produced his pocket- 
book . 

If you boy* will excuse me/ aaid t^.^Gftiy, Til juH uke 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 

6 7 

" I congratulate you, young-man," he said, 
" You were in luck to find me with such a 
big hand/' 

He paid out the notes and ordered drinks. 
The game proceeded. For three or four 
rounds nothing par- 
ticular occurred, 
Then, when again 
It was: Esholt N s deal, 
and the first of a 
round of jack-pots, 
Mr. Cray found him- 
self with a pair of 

41 I open the pot 
for four shillings/' 
he announced. 

* Make it eight/' 
Esholt declared, 
looking at his cards. 

Every one came in. Thomson took three 
cards, glanced at them and threw in his hand. 
Mr. Cray took three, and found himself with 
another king and a pair of aces. Graham 
on his left, took three ; Leach one ; Esholt 

hesitated, picked up 
his cards again, fin- 
gered the pack un~ 
certainly, and then 
took one. Mr. Cray 
sat for a moment 
quite still. He seemed 
to forget that he was 

" You to bet, sir/' 
Thomson reminded 

Mr t Cray glanced 
at the chips in front 
of him, 

a turn on deck. The atmosphere in here is a Irifl? tbfc(t« 

Original from 



Mr. Cray's Adventures 

" Twenty-four shillings," he said, me- 

" Forty-eight," from Graham. 

" Ninety-six," from Leach. 

" A hundred and ninety-two," Esholt de- 
clared, glancing at his cards and laying them 
down again. 

" I'm away," Thomson grumbled. ' Just 
my luck with a big pool." 

Mr. Cray sat quite still for another few 
moments. Again he seemed to be suffering 
from a sort of mental paralysis. He roused 
himself with an effort. 

" Three hundred and eighty-four," he said 
at last. 

Graham hesitated and threw in reluctantly. 
Leach did the same. 

44 Double ! " Esholt declared. 

They all looked at Mr. Cray. He was 
steadily watching Esholt. 

" Twice three hundred and eighty-four is a 
great deal of money," he said. " However, 
1 must see you, Captain Esholt." 

He laid down upon the table his 44 full 
house." Esholt turned over his cards one by 
one. He was deathly pale. 

I have your four aces, sir," he announced. 
" I kept three and a kicker." 

Mr. Cray looked at the cards for a moment 
and nodded slowly. 

" Twice three hundred and eighty-four 
are seven hundred and sixty-eight," he calcu- 
lated ; " that is thirty-eight pounds eight 

He counted out forty pounds from his 
pocket-book, received the change, and re- 
placed the book in his pocket. Then he rose 
to his feet. 

" If you boys will excuse me," he said, " I 
guess I'll just take a turn on deck. The 
atmosphere in here is a trifle thick. I'll be 
with you again presently. You can leave 
me out for a deal or two." 

AMIDST a nervous and portentous silence 
Mr. Cray left the room. He walked 
slowly along the deck, heedless of the 
drizzling rain and the wind. He was depressed 
and miserable, yet at that moment it seemed 
to him that only one course was possible. 
He was within a few yards of the door of the 
captain's room when he heard light footsteps 
behind him and felt his arm grabbed. He 
turned around to find Blanche Esholt by his 
side, her hair streaming in the wind, her 
lips parted, her eyes filled with half -terrified 

44 Have you finished playing, Mr. Cray ? " 
she asked. 

" For the present," he answered, lifelessly. 

" Where are you going now ? " 

" I was just stepping in to say ' good 
evening ' to the captain." 

Her fingers were still gripping his arm. 

She drew him to the rail of the ship. Mr 
Cray found himself welcoming these few 
moments' respite. 

" Tell me about the game," she begged. 

" I would rather not," he replied. 

" Did they win ? " she faltered. " Those 
boys, I mean — Dick and the others ? " 

4 Yes, they won," he admitted. 

44 Much ? " 

44 Getting on for a hundred pounds. I was 
just going to see the captain about it." 

" Why ? " she almost screamed. 

Mr. Cray glanced around to be sure that 
they were not overheard. 

" Because they cheated," he answered, 

She commenced to sob then. She was in- 
coherent, but somehow or other she managed 
to tell her story. 

" I knew they'd be found out," she de- 
clared. " It was the stupidest, most idiotic 
thing. Mr. Cray, will you believe me when 
I tell you something ? " 

" I guess so," he promised. 

% ' There isn't one of those boys," she con- 
tinued, passionately, " has ever before done 
a dishonourable action. Jack Graham, Sid- 
ney Leach, and Phil Thomson are all just in 
the same boat as Dick and I. They gave up 
their work for the war, and they can't pick 
it up again. Not one of them has been able 
to find a reasonable job since. Dick and I 
haven't got fifty pounds between us, and not 
a soul in England to look to, and the others 
are in the same box. They were talking it 
over the other night, and Phil Thomson said 
suddenly that he was tired of being honest, 
he meant to get the money to live on, some- 
how or other. Then the others joined in, and 
Dick explained how easy it was to cheat at 
cards. And then someone said you were a 
millionaire, and they Ve been practising this 
poker game in their state-rooms every minute 
of the day since." 

Somehow, Mr. Cray's heart began to grow 
lighter. He patted the girl on the back, then 
he began to laugh. 

" Miss Esholt," he said, " I believe every 
word of what you have said. I never in all 
my life — and I've had some experience — saw 
such a darned poor, bungling attempt at 
cheating! Why, your brother don't know 
enough about palming cards to deceive the 
kids at a children's party, and that other 
young man, Thomson — why, he trembled like 
a baby when he showed his hands." 

44 You won't go to the captain ? " she 
begged, piteously. 

44 I will not," he promised ; 4 ' that is, if 
my talk with the young men themselves is 
satisfactory." . . . 

A dark form loomed up through the 
shadows. A hand i ieU upon Mr Cray's 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 


" I heard you were on deck looking for me, 
Mr. Cray," a familiar voice observed. " I 
just went down for a moment to put on my 

Mr. Cray was speechless. Blanche Esholt, 
conscious of her red eyes, stole away, a pro- 
ceeding which Mrs. Green watched with 

" A forward child, that," she said. " Mr. 
Cray, I am sure you will be glad to know that 
I have decided to join your game of poker." 

" To. do what ? " Mr. Cray faltered. 

" We will promenade for a moment," she 
continued, propelling him along. " I feel 
that you do not altogether understand me, 
Mr. Cray. I am an independent woman — 
my life and training have made me so — but 
I am not averse to harmless recreations. I 
have played draw poker with the king of a 
dusky tribe of West Africans and won from 
him two elephant tusks. I may even say 
that I am fond of the game. Some Say I 
will teach you poker-patience." 

A tremendous idea commenced to dawn 
upon Mr. Cray. It developed slowly, how- 

" You may lose your money, Mrs. Green," 
he warned her. " These boys play very 

" On the other hand," she replied, " I may 
win some. I am not afraid of my skill in 
any undertaking in which I may engage. At 
auction bridge I won four hundred rupees 
in Burma. I was considered by everybody 
there a wonderful player." 

" I guess we'll start to-morrow night," Mr. 
Cray suggested. " It's a trifle late." 

" We will start in ten minutes," Mrs. Green 
pronounced. " I shall now go down to my 
state-room and fetch some money. Kindly 
prepare the young gentlemen for my coming." 

Mrs. Green disappeared down the com- 
panion-way, and Mr. Cray made his way 
back to the smoking-room. The four young 
men, in attitudes of profound dejection, were 
seated pretty well as he had left them, except 
that Blanche Esholt was on the settee by her 
brother's side. Added to the pile of chips 
which Mr. Cray had left was the little roll of 
notes with which he had parted. Esholt rose 
to his feet as Mr. Cray approached., 

" We couldn't have gone through with it, 
sir," he confessed, " even if you hadn't found 
us out. There's your money. I can only 
say that we are sorry. We are entirely at 
your mercy." 

Mr. Cray stood by his chair. The steward 
had gone into the inner b^r. It chanced that 
there was no one else in the room. 

" Will you give me your word of honour, 
all of you," he said, " never to attempt this 
sort of thing again ? " 

The reply was unanimous and convincing. 
Mr. Cray* resumed his seat. 

" Boys," he proposed, " I guess we'd better 
call these chips in and start the game again. 
Mrs. Richard Green is coming to join us. 
Don't look so astonished, all of you. Give 
me the chips. I'm banker for the rest of this 
trip. Do your best to win, and we'll settle 
up on the last evening, and whatever you see 
that you don't understand — well, just put it, 
so to speak, in your forgettery. ... To pass 
the time until the lady arrives, I will now 
show you a few card tricks. I guess, when 
I've finished, you'll think it wise to forget 
the little you know about dealing aces." 

Mr. Cray kept his word, and when Mrs. 
Green, carrying a large reticule and wearing 
a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, entered 
the room with an air of determination and 
a smile meant to be ingratiating, he had 
reduced his little circle of watchers to a state 
of amazed stupefaction. He gathered up 
the cards at the lady's .entrance. 

" If you'll take this seat opposite to me, 
ma'am," he invited, " we'll make a start. 
I'm banker, and, if agreeable, I'll keep an 
account against you all till the end of the 

Mrs. Green took the seat indicated, hung 
her reticule across %he back of her chair, 
settled her spectacles firmly upon her nose, 
and counted the chips handed out to her 
with the utmost care. 

" The idea is excellent," she said. " Let 
the game proceed." 

IT was the last evening of the voyage — the 
great steamship was, indeed, being slowly 
convoyed up the Thames in charge of a 
pilot. Mr. Cray and his young friends were 
seated in the corner of the smoking-room 
which they had occupied every evening. 
They were awaiting the arrival of Mrs. 

" Has anyone seen the dear lady to-day ? " 
Esholt asked. 

" She came in to lunch an hour late, and 
had dinner in her state-room," Mr. Cray 
announced, with a grin. " I passed her on 
deck this morning, but she seems to have 
become a trifle short-sighted." 

There was a little ripple of suppressed 

" I notice that she's changed her place at 
table, too," Thomson remarked. 

Mr. Cray smiled beatifically. 

" She gave the deck steward a shilling to 
put our chairs at the opposite end of the 
deck yesterday morning," he confided. 

" Poor Mr. Cray ! " Blanche Esholt mur- 

The door was opened with a firm hand, 
and deliberately closed again. Mrs. Richard 
Green approached the table. Determination 
was engraven in every line of her forcible 
countenance. Gone were the magenta blouse, 



Mr. Cray's Adventures 

the barbaric beads, with those other slight 
concessions to her sex designed to allure the 
recalcitrant Mr. Cray. She was dressed in 
the severe garb in which she proposed to land 
on the following morning — a plain suit of 
iron grey, covering without flattery her 
massive limbs ; a hard felt hat, and square- 
toed shoes. She had the air of one con- 
fronted with an unpleasant duty, to the 
performance of which she was braced only 
from a high sense of principle and ethical 

" Will you sit here, Mrs. Green ? " Mr. 
Cray invited, rising and pointing to one of 
the swivel chairs. 

" I will not sit down," was the uncom- 
promising reply. " I came here to say a few 
words, and I speak better standing." 

Mr. Gray glanced at a list of figures which 
he held in his hand. 

"Eighty-four pounds seventeen, ma'am, 
you seem to owe," he announced, with a 
slightly injured air. " The others have all 
paid up." 

" I, on the contrary," Mrs. Green declared, 
" shall not pay." 

MR. CRAY'S benevolent face assumed a 
remarkable change of expression. He 
looked at the speaker in pained 

" Madam," he protested, " this is a debt 
of honour." 

" A debt of dishonour I call it," was the 
spirited retort. " I Have consulted autho- 
rities upon the subject. I find that poker is 
an illegal game. I am surprised at you, sir," 
she went on, directly addressing Mr. Cray, 
" a man of your age and with your experience 
of life, taking advantage of these young 
people here and stripping them ruthlessly of 
their — their pocket-money." 

" We don't complain," Esholt intervened, 
with the air of a martyr. 

" It was a fair game," Thomson sighed. 

" I've paid my bit, anyhow," Leach 

" The more fool you ! " Mrs. Green de- 
clared, standing squarely upon her feet. 
" What the law of libel may be on board 
ship I don't know, and I don't care, 
but this much I'm here to say and I'll 
say it, and you can any of you treat the 
matter in any way you think fit. The 
whole of my money was lost whenever Mr. 
Cray dealt." 

"Do you insinuate, madam ?" Mr. 

Cray began. 

" Shut up ! " the lady interrupted. " You 
can speak when I've finished. That is the 
bald fact. Every time you dealt I had a 
good hand and you had a better. You may 
be what you seem. I don't know. You 
handle the cards too slickly for my liking, 

a:nd if you want to know my opinion of you, 
you can have it." 

" My dear Mrs. Green I " Mr. Cray faltered. 

" Don't ' my dear ' me ! " that lady thun- 
dered, striking the table with her fist. " I've 
formed my opinion of you, Mr. Cray. I 
believe you to be a professional gambler, 
and not one penny of my money do I part 

A SUDDEN wave of emotion seemed 
to pass over the little company. 
Blanche Esholt's face was hidden in 
her handkerchief, Thomson's was buried in 
his arms. Mr. Cray himself was painfcd and 
humiliated. . ;. 

" That is my decision," Mrs. Green pro- 
claimed, her tone gaining vigour and her 
manner becoming more triumphant as she 
noted the effect of her words. " Not one 
penny of my money shall I part with, an^ if 
I were you young people I would go to the 
captain and force this person to disgorge. 
That is all I have to say. Except this," she 
concluded, turning to Mr. Cray. " Take my 
advice and turn over a new leaf. It is all 
very well to plunder children, but there are 
other men and women about with brains 
besides myself. Some day or other you 
will be in trouble, and if ever a witness is 
needed to testify against you, they can call 
upon Mrs. Richard Green ! " 

She made a dignified and triumphant exit, 
but it was some minutes before Mr. Cray, 
wiping the tears from his eyes, could obtain 
a hearing. Even the pale-faced little girl 
by his side was weak with laughter. 

" Now I've just a word to say to you young 
people," he began, seriously. " I want you 
to understand that though I'm a professional 
gambler when it suits me, I am also what 
Mrs. Green believed me to be when I came 
on board — a pretty wealthy man. I like you 
boys, and you've helped me through with 
this little stunt gamely. Now I'm going to 
do something for you." 

There was a dead silence. Blanche Esholt 
sat upright on the settee, trembling. She 
alone had any idea of what was coming. 

" I've been making a few inquiries, and 
this is what I propose," Mr. Cray continued. 
" We want help badly out at my works in 
Seattle, and if you, Graham and Thomson, 
care about taking it on, there are jobs for 
both of you waiting out there, with your 
passages paid and an advance on account of 
your salaries. You, Leach , I understand, 
were employed by the bank in London with 
whom I have pretty considerable dealings. 
You don't want to worry any more about your 
job there, for I guess you get it and you get it 
quick — within a day or so of our landing. 
And as for Esholt here well, I've been away 

from Lo()M.#Mfe'f | - d ! «— 

E. Phillips Oppenheim 


" What Mrs. Richard Green 
saw when she Looked through 
the porthole of the smoking- 


there'll be correspondence and business 
enough waiting sufficient for a couple of 
secretaries. So there we all are, and, as I 
can't see that we've any of us got any par- 
ticular worry on just now — Steward, before 
you close the bar p please, a bottle of that 
number seventy-four." 

THIS is what Mrs. Richard Green saw 
when she looked through the porthole 
of the smoking-room a short time later, 
attracted by the sounds of unaccustomed 
revelry, Mr, Cray was in his usual place, 

{Tke concluding Adventure in this 

with a glass of champagne in his hand, and 
Blanche Esholt,herarm tight 1 yd rawn through 
his, was seated by his side, a transformed being, 
her eyes dancing with joy and gratitude. 
The four young men, her fellow- victims, were 
standing up with outstretched glasses, sing- 
ing at the top of their voices, " For he's a jolly 
good fellow I " And this notwithstanding 
her courageous denunciation of a person 
whose skill in dealing was certainly pheno- 
menal, and whose character she had ruth- 
lessly exposed I No wonder Mrs. Green 
decided that all young people were fools ! 

kfrtiMfrMt month). 





says : " I think these photo- 
graphs of Sherlock Holmes 
quite wonderful/ 



An Interview with 



SHERLOCK HOLMES has come to 
life once again ! The adventures of 
the most famous detective of fiction, 
originally a leading feature of The 
Strand Magazine, are being re- told in a 
new form through the medium of the cinema 

In a corner of the gigantic studios of 

the Stoll Productions at Cricklewood has 

been erected a perfect replica of Holmes's 

famous residence at 144, Baker Street 

j^Jv — a full-sized house of wood and 

Mr, Eille Norwood in the character of Sherlock Holmci. *ntl in private life. 


Fenn Sherie 


plaster , to all appearances as solid as rife 
original. Here, when "exterior'* scenes are 
being filmed, supers may be seen strolling 
along the footpath to represent passers-by, 
whilst all forms of wheeled traffic pass down 
the '* road/' motor-cars draw up at the en- 
trance to the house, and, in fact, the entire 
atmosphere of a London street is so faith- 
fully reproduced that when the picture is 
thrown on the screen it is impossible to 
detect that the scene was not taken out of 
doors. Indeed, the mechanical side of this 
masterpiece of deception is so complete that 
the producer can even order rain or sunshine 
as he requires ! 

Inside the house, on the first floor, is the 
detective's study. Relics and curios, musty 
books, foul -looking pipes, ancient tobacco- 
jars, chemical apparatus, and other impedi- 
menta are scattered about in a manner 
typical of the untidy but studious bachelor. 
Indeed, the " atmosphere " of the apartment 
is so convincing that when the dazzling arc- 
lamps are turned off and the noises of the 
studio workers have ceased, the visitor who 
wanders into the apartment feels somewhat 
like a tourist standing upon historical ground 
— it seems. as though Sherlock Holmes him- 
self had actually existed, and that this, his 
home, had been preserved untouched as a 
relic of the past. 

Since November last the whirring cameras 
have recorded upon thousands of feet of 
film no fewer than fifteen separate photo- 
plays based on the original short stories by 
Sir A. Conan Doyle , and by the time that this 
article appears the first of these will have 
been released to the public. 

The outstanding feature of these produc- 
tions is the wonderful characterization of 
the rote of Sherlock Holmes by the well- 
known actor Eille Norwood, than whom no 
man more eminently suitable for the part 
could have been chosen. 

In the first place, his facial characteristics 
are such that, with the skilful application of 
grease-paint and an alteration in the dressing 
of the hair — which, by the way, necessitates 
the use of a razor and entails a certain amount 
of physical pain even," time it is brushed 
backwards — he presents a truly remarkable 
likeness to the popular conception of the 
great detective. 

Moreover, he is naturally of a calm and 
contemplative temperament, and his bearing, 
both on and off the screen, is entirely in 
keeping with the character of Holmes. 
Apropos of his stolidity of countenance, the 
following amusing story, which is told in 
Mr. Norwood's club, may be of interest. 

One evening, during 'a round of poker, 
Eille Norwood suddenly doubled the stakes. 

" I wonder if he's bluffing," said one of 
his opponents. 

D igitiz e<J by Kj* GO 5 It 


Sherlock Holmes disguised as the newsvendor 
in ** The Tiger of San Pedro/ 1 The effect of 
the hare-lip is obtained by skjlful shading with 
grease-paint, whilst the other features are dis- 
torted by mechanical devices invented by the 
actor himself. 

" Impossible to tell," said another. *' The 
beggar's got the face of a sphinx/' 

1 Truly spoken," added the third man, 
" Every time I go to the British Museum 
and encounter the mummy of one of the 
Rameses I always say, ' Halloa, Eille, old 
chap, how are you ? ' " 

*' Well/' said the actor, slowly removing 
the pipe from his mouth, "asa matter of 
fact I have always felt that I could play 
faro better than poker." 

To return to the subject of the films, 
however, EiPe Norwood a greatest asset in 



Sherlock Holmes on the Film 

In this remarkable disguise of the Japanese opium-smoker 

no grease-paint whatever was employed, the shape of 

the eyes being altered by a process of strapping. 



Fenn Sherie 

words which were written in of 
the fictitious Holmes may be applied 
without reservation to the living cha- 
racter as portrayed by EiUe Norwood. ( 

Interviewed in his dressing-room at 
the studio, Mr. Norwood related some 
interesting experiences in connection 
with the various disguises he has 
adopted for these films, and revealed, 
for the first time, some of the methods 
which he has invented to obtain such 
realistic effects, 

,l It has given me the greatest 
pleasure/ 1 he said, " to hear that my 
disguises have won the approval of the 
brilliant creator of Sherlock Holmes. 
As an actor of long standing, I have 
made it my business to study make-up 
in all its branches, but my advent into 
the realms of the silent drama opened 
up an entirely new field of research in 
the art of disguise, and I had to make 
a good many experiments before I 
could take up the rule of Sherlock 
Holmes with absolute confidence. 

'* Disguises that are excellent for the 
theatre are impossible for the screen. 
The searching eye of the camera finds 

A clever impersonation of a tramp from "The 
Beryl Coronet/* in which the droop of the 
lower lid of the right eye is a noteworthy 
feature. None of the photographs here re- 
produced has been in any way re -touched* 


I from 

The old Noncon- 
formist minister is one 
of four disguises in "A 
Scandal in Bohemia/* 
In this Mr. Norwood 
ha* been particularly 
successful in conceal- 
ing the join of the 
bald pate. 


7 G 

Sherlock, Holmes on the Film 

out and reveals every join, line, and trick of 
the actor, and so the difficulty of self-efface- 
ment is extraordinarily intensified. For ex- 
ample, the man whose hair and he are still 
attached to each other finds it impassible to 
wear an artificial bald pate of the usual 
pattern without showing a line where the wig 
joins the forehead. Indeed, it is on record 
that one well-known star, who made up mar^ 
vellously as a Chinaman on the stage, had to 
discard the actual wig 
he wore for the part 
because the joining 
line could not be con- 
cealed in the neces- 
sary "close-ups/ and, 
as the only alterna- 
tive, he actually went 
to the trouble and 
inconvenience of shav- 
ing his head entirely. 

"'I am glad to say 
that, after a deal of 
experiment, 1 have 
succeeded in discover- 
ing a means of over- 
coming this difficulty, 
and, as you see, the 
wig which I wore as 
the Nonconformist 
minister, admirably 
constructed to my de- 
sign by Willie Clark - 
son, shows no join of 
any description, 

"In the theatre, 
one has the softening 
effect of the footlights 
and distance, two in- 
valuable aids to the 
actor ; in film work 
one has neither — for 
the large 'close-ups' 
bring the screen actor 
nearer to the observer 
at the back of the gal- 
lery than the artist on 
the stage to the front 
row of t he s t al Is , For 
this reason he cannot 
fix artificial pads on 
the cheeks to fatten 
the face, and some 
other means must be 
employed to gain the 
effect. Again, if a nasal disguise require 
immediate removal — as is necessary in more 
than one of the Sherlock Holmes pictures — 
common or garden nose -paste availeth not 1 

4t Apart from the difficulty of making each 
disguise so perfect that even the all-seeing 
eye of the camera will not reveal it, I have 
also to bear in mind that every character I 
adopt must be superimposed on the make- 

In " The Empty House" the detective assumes 
a disguise in the hope that the suspect will 
penetrate it, and thereby be decoyed into 
following Sherlock Holmes to his home* This 
is how Mr. Norwood effected the make-up, 
which is intentionally transparent. 

up which I use for Sherlock Holmes himself, 
and, moreover, must be either adjusted or 
removed in full view of the camera, so that 
the audience may see that no double has 
been employed. 

u Again, knowing that the disguises are a 
leading feature of the film stories, cinema 
audiences will naturally be on the look-out 
for them— which renders deception far more 
difficult than it would be in real life, where 

the detective would 
mingle, unlocked for, 
with the crowd, 

"In addition to the 
facial disguises, the 
cha acter kits re- 
quired for the various 
parts have to be care- 
fully thought out, and 
L + and H. Nathan 
have been most suc- 
cessful in providing 
these for me* 

pr Naturally, I take 
a very great delight 
in testing my dis- 
guises upon every 
conceivable occasion, 
and in connection 
with my impersona- 
tion of the taxi-driver 
I narrowly escaped 
being ejected forcibly 
from the studio. 

" Having adjusted 
the make-up, which 
you will see entirely 
alters the shape of my 
face, I stood about in 
the studio to see if any 
of my confrires would 
recognize me. Pre- 
sently I saw the man- 
aging director, Mr. 
Jeffrey Bernerd, to 
whom, of course, I am 
well known, whisper 
some instructions to 
one of his staff, where- 
upon the latter ap- 
proached me with an 
air of authority and 
ordered me to get 

* f ' Lor lumme 1 ' I 
exclaimed, in a hoarse voice, ' I ain't doin' 
no 'arm, am I? I'm waiting for some 
bloke 'ere, and you don't think Fm going 
to 'ang about outside in the pcrishin' cold, 
do yer ? * 

" At this juncture, the managing director, 
fearing that blood would be shed, was about 
to intervene when the producer called 
- Mr. Norwood, please,' and I stepped 


Fenn Sheiie 


In. this character the make-up consists of a false 
nose, pince-nez, and moustache, which are 
made in one piece, removable in an instant. 
The disguise was, however, sufficiently realistic 
to enable Mr, Norwood to play a practical 
joke upon the producer. 

straight into the scene, leaving behind 
me two speechless men who wondered 
if they were f seeing things 'I 

"Another disguise for 'A Scandal 
in Bohemia/ a photograph of which 
appears herewith, was tested in a 
similar manner, A few days before 
we commenced work on the first of 
the series I donned the false nose, 
pince-nez, and moustache (which are 
made in one piece) t and wearing a 
huge ulster I walked into the studio 
with my knees bent, reducing my 
height to about five feet four inches. 
Assuming a weak and nervous voice, I 
approached my friend Maurice Elvey, 
the producer. 

" ' Please, I've been told to see you 
about the part of Dr, Watson/ I said. 

A scene from the 
film version of " A 
Scandal in Bohemia/* 
in which another 
effective disguise is 

' Thit and th* prtixdiue pAo'o- 
ttwgvr, of *he Sivli iTfyinctotH*.] 


7 8 

Sherlock Holmes on the Film 

'"I'm afraid you are too short,' he replied, 
politely ; * besides, your moustache is much 
too heavy for the character.' 

" * But Dr. Watson had a moustache, 
did he not ? ' I wailed. 

" ' Yes, but well, I'm sorry, but you 

are quite unsuitable.' 

" ' Then how would I do for Sherlock 
Holmes ? ' I asked, reverting to my natural 
voice and drawing myself up to my full 
height. The expression on my victim's face 
baffles description ! 

" Maurice Elvey, the best of friends and 
the most tactful of producers, will, I am sure, 
forgive me if I tell you one more anecdote 
at his expense. 

" I must explain that I have succeeded in 
' pulling his leg ' so many times when trying 
my new disguises that he has become 
thoroughly suspicious of me, and is con- 
stantly on the alert lest he should be caught 

" One morning I was sitting in the studio 
awaiting my call, disguised as the old bald- 
headed Nonconformist minister, when Mr. 
Elvey entered. I nodded to him affably, 
and he returned the compliment, though 
without seeming to recognize me, and passed 
on. In the middle of the floor he stopped 
and gazed round * him as though he were 
looking for somebody, then he walked 
straight up to a tall super who was disguised 
with bushy eyebrows and a heavy moustache 
and slapped him heartily on the back. 

" ' It's no use, Eille, old man, I've found 
you oirtthis time,' he exclaimed, gleefully. 

"'That's where you're wrong,' said the 
old minister, who by this time was ♦standing 
at his elbow. ' Try again.' 

" I am now living in deadly fear that Elvey 
will some day find a means of getting his 
own back ! " 

Perhaps the most successful disguise of 
the series is that of the Japanese opium- 
smoker in " The Man with the Twisted Lip," 
which, strange though it may seem> was 
carried out without the application of any 
grease-paint whatever. 

Naturally, Mr. Norwood is not prepared 
to give away his " trade secrets," but with- 
out revealing too much it may be said that 
the effect was produced by distorting the 
features by a process of strapping (the ap- 
paratus for which is concea'ed by the wig), 
and that he wore a special set of false teeth 
in order to alter the shape of the mouth. 
Those who see the film will be able to observe 
these details for themselves, for the disguise 
is removed piece by piece in a close-up view. 

In the case of the tramp disguise there are 
no false features of any description — the 
irregular effect of the nose being obtained 
by judicious shading, and the droop of the 

Digitized by CjOOQ IC 

lower eyelid by a process of strapping some- 
what similar to that employed in the lf Jap " 

Another highly successful make-up in 
which the features are distorted is that 
of the newsvendor in "The Tiger of San 
Pedro." It will be noticed that the ears 
are bent forward, the nostrils are distended, 
and the lower lip is curled over, all of which 
effects were produced by ingenious devices 
of Mr. Norwood's own invention. Needless 
to say these disguises, as well as that of 
the taxi-driver (in which the cheeks are 
padded on the inside), are extremely 
uncomfortable, and cannot be worn for 
more than about an hour at a time. In 
this respect, if in no other, the film actor 
has the advantage over his brother of the 
theatre, for, if needs be, the producer and 
camera men will wait whilst the actors take 
a rest, whereas an audience in the theatre 
would soon become impatient if they were 
expected to give the performers a long 
interval every time their disguises began to 
tire them ! 

Another make-up from " A Scandal in 
Bohemia" is that of the actor with the 
pointed beard. Although the disguise is 
not quite so complicated, Mr. Norwood 
experienced considerable difficulty in con- 
cealing the join between the beard and the 
face. Eventually he succeeded in over- 
coming the obstacle, but no amount of 
coaxing will persuade him to reveal the 
secret ' of the beard which, besides being 
convincing, may be affixed and removed in 
an instant. 

The disguise of the Colonel in " The 
Empty House " appears, at first sight, a 
little obvious and "theatrical," and lest it 
should be thought that in this instance the 
actor has failed to obtain an entirely con- 
vincing effect, it may be as well to explain 
that, for the purposes of the story, the 
disguise is intended to be penetrable, for 
Sherlock Holmes enters the house m of a 
suspect in this make-up in the hope that the 
latter will recognize him and thus be decoyed 
into following him home. 

Bearing these facts in mind, one cannot 
but admire the skilful manner in which Mr. 
Norwood has evolved a disguise which, 
without being too painfully obvious, is just 
sufficient to arouse our suspicion. 

The Sherlock Holmes picture plays, though 
necessarily reconstructed for film purposes, 
are worthy of the original short stories 
both in production and photography, and if 
immortality were comparative one would 
almost feel inclined to say that Sherlock 
Holmes has been rendered even more 
" immortal " by the acting and make-up of 
Eille Norwood. 

Original from 






THE house was just 
like many houses 
which Gregson knew 
in Barcastle, but 
everything was on a bigger scale. 
It was a sort of villa de luxe. It 
was detached, as the villas of Gregson 's 
customers in Barcastle were detached. 
But it stood much more severely alone 
than any Barcastle villa, although it stood 
in a road. 

Its gardens were positively spacious. It 
was like a country house, and every other 
house in the road was like a country house 
also. But, of course, in a London suburb 
the open country all around was wanting. 
Still, the road aimed at being a road of 
country houses for City gentlemen, and 
succeeded very well. 

Round the gardens and separating the 
houses there were trees and evergreens. 
Some of the trees were pine trees, and all 
the evergreens were fully grown, so that 
every house was very isolated from its 
neighbours. The particular house which 
Gregson was observing was peculiarly well 
surrounded by trees. Gregson noted this 
with pleasure. He was going to commit a 
murder. The more secluded the house the 
better for him. 

Really the road was very quiet in its 
high-class respectability. 

Gregson walked out into the middle of 
the road and looked up and down it. But 
he did not see a single human being. He 
had already wasted quite half an hour 
walking up and down the road, and he had 
not seen anybody in the road except himself. 


There was not even a policeman. Nothing 
could have been better. Gregson told him- 
self he was in luck. But he still hesitated. 
He was quite an amateur at his job. Most 
murderers are. But some of them more so 
than others. Gregson was really an amateur 
at crime. The crime he contemplated was 
his first crime. But, after all, a murder is a 
comparatively simple crime, if one has just 
got the strength and the courage to strike 
the blow. That, at any rate, is what Gregson 
told himself. And Gregson was physically 
a strong man. If somewhat clumsily built, 
he was at any rate built on a large scale. 
He stood six feet high, and much rowing on 
the river at Barcastle had made his arms 
strong. And, after all, his determination to 
kill his man was also strong. He had only 
thought so far of his physical abi'ity to do 
that which he had set out to do, and of the 
absolute righteousness of what he was doing. 
He was a man who believed in righteousness. 

So Gregson shrugged his shoulders, opened 
the side gate to the house quietly, and 
vanished into the shrubbery at the side of 
the house. 

It was a perfect evening in midsummer. 
A perfectly still, breathless evening, fragrant 
with the scents of flowers. Close to the 
shrubbery in which Gregson presently was 
crouching there was a herbaceous border. 



The Sentimental Murderer 

A lew industrious bees were still gathering 
honey even though the light had began to 
fade, Gregson from his hiding-place could 
see not only the herbaceous border, but also 
a well-kept lawn. And beyond it he saw a 
pergola which was 
a mass of pink and 
crimson rambler 
roses. It was all 
very beautiful and 
well kept. Close- 
cropped grass, 
weed less paths, a 
profusion of flowers 
— the garden of a 
wealthy man, full 
of the peace of the 
last hour of a 
summer evening. 

Then suddenly 
Gregson started, 
and his hand 
gripped the handle 
of the weapon in his 
pocket. For there, 
in the distance, sit- 
ting in a wicker 
chair in the per- 
gola, was the man 
whom he had come 
to murder. He was 
in evening dress, a 
gentlemanly - look- 
ing man, enjoying 
the summer even- 
ing's peace and an 
excellent cigar, 

Gregson looked 
at his quarry in- 
tently. He had 
hunted him down 
carefully, and Greg- 
son, who had never 
hated anybody in 
his life before, was 
full of his strong, 
virile hatred of the 
smug and well- 
groomed ni o n e y* 
lender who sat 
there amongst his 

That man held in 
his hands the power 
to destr o y G re gson 's 
life, to shut up Greg- 
son^ shop, to break the life of Gregson 's 
wife, and to reduce her,. in reducing Gregson, 
to the misery of bankruptcy and grinding 
poverty, And Gregson was a mild-mannered 
and respectable man who dearly loved his 
wife. The man in the pergola was a pitiless 
brute of a man who crushed lives in order 
ttmt he might live in luxury, a man who had 

Digiiized by ^OOQIC 

definitely stated that he intended to crush 
Gregson J s life and his wife's life. But not 
only his life and his wife's life, but the lives 
of Gregson 's children, who, with the ruin of 
their father, would have their education 

-ap : 


i^ v^ ' ^ 

» . * V ■ 

SB m 

w ^w^^ 4^h BflB 


w* .ill iM 


... ■ M 

.....-< .. _ — 

Suddenly Gregson started, and his hand gripped fche weapon 

had come 

cut short, Gregson had a son at the Bar- 
castle Grammar School and a daughter at 
the Barcastle High School for Girls, They 
were good children who tried to be good as 
Gregson and his wife had always tried to be 
good, and who worked well at school and 
were getting on well. 

So, at any rat©, there were four lives— 


JEdward Cecil 


Gregson's, his wife's, and his two children's — 
which were going to be crushed in order that 
that smug moneylender might get his money. 
How Gregson hated him as he watched him 
sitting there enjoying his cigar ! 

in his pocket* For there* in the distance, was th 
to murder/* 

It was a sad story, the story of Josiah 
Gregson— a hard-ivorking, industrious, but 
under-intelligent and over- kind -hearted little 
grocer in Bar castle, who had got into money 
difficulties and had gone to Mr. Geoffrey 
Gordon, who had an address in a quiet street 
near Piccadilly and lent money to those who 
were foolish enough to borrow from him. 

VoLUiL fl 

Well, Gregson was going to be equal with 
him ! Gregson, who had never hated in his 
life, when he did hate, could hate ! His 
mind was made up. He was going to save 
his wife and children. He was going to 

revenge his own 
wTongs ! He might 
as well be a mur- 
derer as a bank- 
rupt ! He was going 
to settle it once and 
for all that night ! 
He might be a worm, 
but he w f as a worm 
which would turn ! 
Doubtless he was 
only one of many, 
He was going to act 
for himself and for 
others. He would 
be square that night 
with Mr. Geoffrey 
Gordon, whose real 
name, no doubt, was 
not Gordon at all, 
but Isaacs, or 
Samuels, or Levy ! 

Gregson waited. 
He felt he had to 
wait h H^ could not 
go down to the per- 
gola > where he would 
be seen by anyone 
looking from the 
windows of the 
house. He had to 
watt. And presently 
his patience was 
rewarded, for Mr. 
Geoffrey Gordon got 
up from his chair, 
threw away the 
stump of his cigar, 
and walked slowly 
across the lawn to 
the house. He was 
walking almost 
s t r aj g h t towards 
Gregson. He looked 
. ^qnite an old man. 
His shoulders were 
bent, his hair was 
grey, and his step 
was slow r and steady. 
He walked straight 
into the room in a 
quite close to where 

e man 



up to the 
corner of 

house and 
the house 

Gregson was. It had French windows, 
which were open to the lawn, and Gregson's 
heart beat fast when he realized how easy 
his task wa^, for he stepped out from the 
shrubbery and followed his quarry into the 
room. It was only a matter of a dozen 



The Sentimental Murderer 

steps or so, and there he was — in a quiet 
little room, furnished as a sort of small 
library and smoking-room, carpeted with a 
deep pile carpet, and papered and curtained 
with wallpaper and curtains of a restful shade 
of green. 

" Good evening, Mr. Gordon," said Greg- 
son, as he entered the room. 

Gordon, the moneylender, had crossed the 
room and had put his hand on a book on a 
small table at the side of a deep and soft- 
cushioned easy-chair, and was either going 
to sit down in the chair or take the book 
up to bed with him, when he heard Gregson 's • 
salutation. He did not start, although he 
was taken by surprise. He turned round 
and smiled. 

" You have the advantage of me," he said. 
" I don't know who you are." 

" Oh, yes, you do ! " cried Gregson. " My 
name is Josiah Gregson. I am a grocer, and 
I live in Barcastle. Five or six years ago I 
began borrowing money from you. Now 
the time has come when I have got to pay. 
I can't pay, and you know it ! You have 
decided to ruin me, and I am here — to talk 
to you!" 

".Sit down, Mr. Gregson," said Gordon, 

Gregson sat down on the edge of a chair. 
He was afraid to sit down properly in the 
chair because it was deep and well-cushioned. 
He sat on the edge, and he rested his strong 
rough hands on his knees. 

" What is it you want to say to me ? " 
asked Gordon. 

" All I have to say to you," Gregson 
replied, " is that I can't pay and that I 
won't pay ! Much more than half the money 
I owe you is interest — exorbitant interest 
which has mounted up to a sum I can't pay 
and never can hope to pay." 

" Then all I can do," said Gordon, very 
quietly, " is to enforce payment in the usual 
way. I remember your case now, quite 
well, Mr. Gregson. I haven't got the 
slightest intention of foregoing my claim 
upon you. I never forego any claim." 

" You — never — forego — any — claim," re- 
peated Gregson. "It is my intention to 
force you to forego one claim ! " 

And, very slowly, never taking his eyes off 
the face of the man he intended to murder, 
he got up and stood between his victim and 
the door. 

Gordon never moved. He just smiled. 

" It is not the first time," he said, " that 
my life has been threatened." 

" It will be the last time," said Gregson. 
" Your life is now going to be taken away 
from you. You callous brute ! You think 
nothing of breaking me and of ruining my 
home ! You are going to disgrace me and 
break my wife's heart, and destroy my two. 

Digitized by L*OOgle 

children's education ! I have come here 
to-night to destroy you ! If I escape, well 
and good. If I don't, also well and good. 
At any rate, I shall have saved others from 
getting into the power of a blood-sucking 
Jew by sending that blood-sucking Jew to 
his account before he has time to get any 
more victims into his net ! " 

- " Very well," said Gordon, calmly. " Do 
what you have come to do, and do it as 
quickly and as quietly as you can. There is 
no particular necessity to disturb the house, 
and if you are quick and skilful you will 
have a very good chance of getting away 
undetected. I don't intend to offer the 
slightest resistance. All I ask, Mr. Gregson, 
is that you cut out all the cant about your 
misery and my usury, and just strike your 
blow clean and hard ! " 

GREGSON stood motionless. Already 
all his muscles were taut, ready to act. 
Already his mind was made up. The 
venom of his hatred could not be stronger 
than it was. Yet he stood motionless, and 
his victim sat motionless also, in his chair, 
looking up into the face of his executioner. 

" Come, Gregson ! " said Mr. Geoffrey 
Gordon. " Do what you came to do, and 
do it quickly ! I have always despised men 
like you, Gregson. Don't prove me right by 
showing yourself a miserable, hesitating 
coward ! " 

Gregson took out of his pocket the 
revolver which he had bought that morning 
at a shop in Holborn. It w r as loaded and 

" Oh ! " observed Mr. Geoffrey Gordon. # 
" Shooting is your method ! It has only" 
one disadvantage — the report of the weapon 
attracts attention. This is particularly true 
on a still summer's evening like this evening. 
The sound of your shot will be heard all over 
this house and garden, and probably also by 
several neighbours. Still, the choice is yours 
— not mine. May I, in this last moment of 
my life, offer you a word of advice ? It will 
probably save your own life, and that 
perhaps will be some consolation to your 
wife and children, in whose interests, I 
understand, you are now acting." 

" It is dangerous to talk to me like that ! " 
muttered Gregson, thickly. ~^- - _^ 

But he was now trembling, for he was fac£*. 
to face with something which he could not 

" Stiffen yourself, my good man ! " said 
Gordon, sharply. " You will never get 
through with it if you don't ! " 

" There has been enough talking, you 
Jew ! " answered Gregson, and his finger 
lingered on the trigger. 

" All I can say is that there has not been 

enough talking," said Gordon, " From your 
'--m i lj i n d i it q m 


Edward Cecil 


point of view, there is the advice that I can 
give you as yet unspoken." 

" Speak it, then ! " cried Gregson. 

" Very well. Put the muzzle of your 
weapon right here, close against my heart, 
so that there may be no doubt about your 
aim. Probably you are a poor shot, and 
shooting with a revolver at a distance, even 
though the distance is small, is not always 
accurate in the hand of an incompetent 
person. Moreover, if the weapon is dis- 
charged right up against the shirt-front of 
this evening shirt there will be a mark which 
will show that I was shot at close quarters. 
If you do as I have told you, all you will 
have to do is to put the weapon into my hand 
after you have shot me, and you will have 
several minutes to escape unnoticed, by the 
way you came. When my body is found, it 
will be quite obvious that I have shot my- 
self ! In this way you will be able to con- 
tinue your incompetent life, after I have 
solved the mystery of human existence." 

Gregson was visibly and actually trembling 
now. It was as much as he could do to hold 
the revolver in his hand. And for a full 
minute there was unbroken silence in that 
little room looking out on the peaceful, well- 
kept garden, now shrouded in the first dusk 
of the summer night. 

AT last Gregson found his voice. 
" Won't you let me off my debt ? " 
he asked. " That would be the sim- 
pler way." 

"No," said Mr. Geoffrey Gordon. " You 
owe me the money, and you must pay it. 
It is all the same to me whether you kill me 
or not. It may surprise you, but as I was 
sitting in my pergola, smoking my cigar, 
just now, I was contemplating suicide. I 
saw a Harley Street specialist this afternoon; 
and in any case this is the last summer I shall 
ever see. A quick death would be welcome 
to me. ,% *T should be very grateful to you if 
you would save me the trouble of committing 

*' Wait a minute ! " exclaimed Gregson, 
^-a/nd he went back to his chair and sat down 
again with his revolver still in his hand. 

" There is no immediate hurry," said 
Gordon. " Though I should be glad if you 
spared me any unnecessary delay." 

" Why should I spare you anything ? You 
have never spared any man or any woman. 
But I am rather puzzled. You are not the 
sort of man I expected to find you." 

" That ie-not surprising. You have called 
me a Jew. I am not a Jew. I am a York- 
shireman. It is quite true that my real 
name is not Gordon. It is Robinson. 
Geoffrey Gordon is only my professional 
name. In my private life I am Thomas 

" So you are a Yorkshireman," said 
Gregson. " That accounts for your pluck." 

" I have taken a good many risks in my 
time, in the course of my profession," said 
Gordon, " but I am not taking any particular 
risk now. What I have told you, Mr. 
Gregson, is absolutely true. In no event 
can my life be prolonged for more than a 
few months. Your coming to-night is very 
opportune ; though, of course, you had no 
reason to know that it would be." 

" But even then you have more pluck 
than I should have," said Gregson. 

" That means very little, for you, Gregson, 
have no pluck at all. You would not be in 
the position you .are if you had had 
any. You haven't even now got the pluck 
to finish me off. It is rather interesting to 
me to find that this is so. I have long held a 
theory that here would be very few murders 
indeed if the victims didn't resist. I happen 
to be in a position that I don't want to 
resist you, and I find immediately that you 
can't carry out your purpose. But what 
can it matter to you what kind of man I 
am ? From your point of view I am simply 
a Jew moneylender. Why don't you finish 
me off ? You came here to do it. Why 
not doit ? " 

11 It isn't altogether easy," said Gregson, 
slowly, " to kill a dying man." ^ 

Gordon smiled. 

" How sentimental you are, Gregson ! 
I suppose it is part of your habitual feebleness 
and incompetence ! " 

'Mam not so feeble and incompetent as 
you think ! " returned Gregson, spurred to 

" Prove it ! " said Gordon, deliberately. 

" You are a strange man, Mr. Gordon," 
Gregson said, looking round the roomr " It 
looks as if you are a great reader." 

" I am. Reading books has been my re- 
laxation for many years past. I have spent 
many hours in this room reading books." 

It looked as if this was quite true, for the 
room was well stocked with bookcases and 

" And you have a good garden here," 
Gregson continued. " I have myself always 
been fond of flowers." 

" I think I may also remark that you are 
a strange man, Gregson ! At any rate, you 
are a strange murderer. You are as in- 
competent at your job as a murderer as you 
certainly have been at your job as a grocer." 

" What shall I gain ? " asked Gregson, 
suddenly. " What shall I gain if I do kill 
you ? You are going to die in any case." 

" You will gain the satisfaction I suppose 
you thought you would gain when you came 
here. You hate me. You would get the 
satisfaction of satisfying your hatred. Come, 
Gregson, stiffen -^W^ N 


The Sentimental Murderer 

44 You are playing with me, Mr. Gordon/' 
said Gregson, feebly. 

41 I am not playing with you. I assure 
you that I am not playing with you. If 
you will carry out your intention, you shall 
carry away with you a discharge of your 

" Do you mean that ? " 

41 I usually mean what I say." 

At that moment there broke out of the 
silence of the summer evening, from some- 
where quite near, the notes of a grand piano, 
a fine instrument, being played with the 
touch of a fine musician. Gregson knew 
that it was a grand piano, and he knew also 
that the player was a musician of skill and 

4 * That is my daughter playing," said Mr. 
Geoffrey Gordon. '' She often plays late at 
night, like this, from sheer love of her music. 
She is very fond of Chopin, and so am I. 
She is playing one of the Preludes." 

Gregson sat motionless. Then suddenly 
he jumped to his feet. 

44 1 can't ! 7 he exclaimed. " I can't do 
it ! It is not a night fit for a murder ! 
This beautiful garden of yours, this— book- 
lined room, your daughter playing, and you — 
a dying man ! I can't do it ! I may be a 
poor, muddling, incompetent sort of mah, 
but when it comes to committing a crime— -«- 
I can't do it ! I might have been able to do 
it if you had been what I thought you were. 
But now, I can't ! " 

And he put his revolver in his pocket. 

Mr. Geoffrey Gordon got up from his chair. 
He smiled, and then sighed and sat down at 
a writing-table near the window and took . 
a sheet of notepaper in his hand and his 

fountain-pen from his pocket. He shrugged 
his shoulders. 

" Wait a minute before you go, Gregson," 
he said, and then began writing. 

Gregson went and stood behind him and 
looked over his shoulder. 

44 I don't see why you should give me a 
discharge from my debt," he said, presently. 

44 Neither do I," replied Gordon. 4f But 
I am doing it. It is difficult to understand 
why we do things sometimes, but still we do 
them. It is difficult also to understand why 
we don't do things sometimes, eh, Gregson ?"" 

Gregson said nothing. He simply stood 
there waiting. And presently Mr. Geoffrey 
Gordon turned round in his chair and handed 
up to him the discharge of his debt which he 
had written. 

44 We have had an interesting little talk 
to-night, Gregson," he said. *' Take this 
away with you as a memento of the occasion. 
Don't try and say anything. It is difficult 
to say, perhaps; what you may be thinking.- 
I am "qtiitfc a wealthy man, and I can afford 
to do what I like with my money. And if 
either of your children are fond of books, 
and if you wish to remember me at all kindly 
during the next few months,, which will 
be the- last- months of my life, you might 
encourage them to read and to lave 'books. 
.... You had better go now, Gregson, and 
go quickly. My daughter, when she' has 
finished playing, usually comes to say good 
night to me in this room. She generally 
finds me reading here at this hour of the; 
night. Good night, Gregson." 

. He got up and held out his hand. Gregsorr 
shook it in silence and walked out through 1 
the open French window. ~ 


io, The Esplanade, 


Dear Christopher* 
You will be glad to hear that I am now well 
enough to perambulate almost daily in exploitation of 
my excavated garden. I shall have some fine gera- 
niums doing well in my conservatory, while heliotrope 
and carnations in the flowerpots are thriving and 
numerous. There is also good promise of dahlias later 

Towards the gloaming of a recent afternoon I was 
scanning the ground for a lost object* with efforts which 
were fairly regular and persistent Happening to look 
up, I saw a varlet of untutored mind behind the parapet 
adjoining a heap of potatoes which stands there. From 
these, or from the implements of the garden, he picked 
up a missile, and without warning hit the stomachic 
part of my corporeal frame, using (so to speak) a kind 
of argument not easily rebutted. I was astounded for 
the moment ; then 1 rebuked him with no little asperity, 
but he bolted without any apology. For myself I was 
glad to be spared anything in the way of a fracture. 

A week ago I was in a draughty place in the cathe- 
dral. As a result I have been much out of sorts and 

indisposed since. To add to my discomfort, I have 
run out of the right sort of provender for the stove in my 
study, and have been compelled to use anthracite of an 
inferior kind. 

1 am by nature an absolute optimist and my tempera- 
ment nearly always buoyant, but after eventualities 
like these my mind has been in an extremely harassed 
condition. < , 

I have a communication for you of considerable. 
importance. The gossips have lately been saying that . 
Bibb Percival and my niece, Susan Buchanan, have, 
been given to flirtations too often and ostentatiously. 
As a matter of fact, their betrothal is at least a month . 
old. I wonder what the old dowager lady living in 
Albemarle Street has to say. Neither of them can 
ignore an old relative without being disloyal. I have 
already been consulted about the trousseau. My 
masculine opinion, forsooth! 

I am sending you a package, of spinach and artin 
Chokes, both of which I hope you will find acceptable^ 

With an assurance of my friendship and affection, 
I am always, 

Yc-tit s fTectionate godfather, 


s 5 


<SX_ 9.Zritie%Jlus>tin. ^h 


N that busy quarter of an hour ere the 
great liner cast off from the landing- 
stage, but few of the preoccupied 
passengers noticed the handcuffed man 
hurried by two ' detectives- up the third- 
class gangway into the ship. Those that 
did shrank back uncomfortably* He 
stumbled up like a man on the way to 
execution, pale, haggard, withdrawn into 
himself, faculties numbed by the imminence 
of his fate. His eyes stared without seeing. 

The two detectives hustled him below, 
into the depths of the ship, along electric-lit 
corridors where the light of day never came. 
A steward preceded them as guide, indicated 
at last a cabin on the lowest berth-deck. 
The door .ffi^ flpened and he was thrust 


The Infernal Machine 

into the tiny apartment, dimly lit by a port- 
hole close under the roof, the river-water 
lapping green along its glass. The prisoner 
stood stock-still where he was pushed, bereft 
apparently of voluntary motion with the 
limbs that shook helplessly as in an ague. 
His mean little face was immobilized almost 
to imbecility. One of the detectives stood 
over him, looked into his vacant eyes. 

" Now, no nonsense, Jake — or we'll have 
to keep you tied up all the way," he said, 
impersonally. With that he unlocked the 
handcuffs. The prisoner's arms, freed, fell 
limply pendent. The detective turned and 
went out of the cabin. 

The prisoner watched his exit with lack- 
lustre eyes that stared in a vague and in- 
creasing horror as the sound of the key 
turning in the lock penetrated slowly to his 
consciousness. Suddenly, as though full per- 
ception released a spring in him, he leaped at 
the door. 

" Let me out ! Let me out ! Let me out, 
I say ! " he screamed at the top of his voice, 
hammering violently at the door. " Police ! 
Police 1 Police ! 'Ere ! 'Ere ! 'Ere 1 Come 
back ! Come back ! " His cry rang out on 
a piercing note of almost maniac terror, of 
extreme urgency of appeal. " I've got some- 
thing to tell yer ! I've got something to tell 
ver ! Don't lei 'er start ! Don't let 'er start ! 
Oh, Gawd, don't let 'er start ! 'Ere ! 'Ere ! 
Come back ! Police ! Come back ! " He 
exhausted himself with a whirlwind of blows, 
hands and feet battering upon the closed 
door, with a flood of iagonized appeals 
mingled with blood-curdling curses, that 
dropped suddenly to whimpering humility 
and broke out again in a renewed fury of 

None answered him. The door remained 
closed. As he recoiled from it, gasping in 
despair and terror, he heard the shriek of 
the liner's siren in its last warning, the clank 
and 4 rumble of cables paid out, the first throb 
•of her engines awaking to life. A swirl of 
water in motion darkened the glass disc of 
the port. 

He sank down to a seat upon his bunk, 
breathing heavily as from weak and over- 
strained lungs, his pinched face a ghastly 
grey. His eyes fixed themselves, fascinated, 
upon that porthole which the disturbed 
water obscured from instant to instant. 
They had cast off, were moving out upon 
their voyage across the ocean. 

THE reaction from his intense effort left 
him gripped in a paralyzing certitude 
of isolation, of abandonment, of utter 
impotence. Penned here in this narrow steel 
cell far below decks, like a prisoner in an 
oubliette to be forgotten, cries and noise were 
alike useless ; if heard, were only to be con- 

temptuously ignored. Numbed to the core of 
him, he ceased to make a sound, sat vaguely 
staring before him into flitting mental pic- 
tures where his conscious intelligence inter- 
vened only by fits arid starts. 

He saw himself in the dilapidated parlour 
behind the boarded-up saloon in the squalid 
street beyond the dock-gates ; saw once more 
the white, pinched face of the deformed little 
German- Jew chemist light up with evil 
triumph as he hoisted the heavy suit-case on 
to the table around which the " comrades " 
craned forward with eager interest. He saw 
him open it and, in a breathless silence, 
draw forth — a chunk of coal ! The little Jew 
held it up for the appreciation of his com- 

" Dere you are, comrades ! " He heard 
again the throaty, malicious chuckle of the 
inventor's voice. " Cast in steel — I enamelled 
it mineself — and you can do vat you like 
vid it." He giggled like one diabolically 
insane. " You can drop it — you can hit it — 
you can do anyding you like vid it — except 
burn it t " 

O'Donnell, the big Irishman, had taken it 
from him like a loving-cup, and had gazed 
down upon it with almost affectionate 

" And if it should by accident be shovelled 
into a liner's furnaces, comrade ? " he had 
asked, grimly facetious, in his pleasant Irish 
tones, his phraseology emphasizing, as was 
his wont, the fact that he was a man of 

" It vill blow de belly out of her ! " the 
little chemist had answered, with a sudden 
violent ferocity. " Dose explosives — dey vill 
blow de belly out of de biggest ship dat efer 
sailed ! " 

O'Donnell had smiled amiably and, still 
holding aloft the chunk of pseudo-coal like 
a loving-cup, had looked around upon the 
clustered, gaunt faces of the " comrades " as 
though in selection of one to whom to give it. 

" Comrades ! " he had exclaimed, his soft 
voice never more mellifluous, " we are going 
to strike a real blow this time — one the blood- 
suckers will feel and remember ! They shall 
know that the solidarity of labour is no vain 
boast ! " 

Neither in Jake Bravinsky's reverie of 
reminiscence, nor at the moment upon those 
eager faces craned towards the thing the big 
Irishman held, was there any perception of 
unintended irony. A longshoreman's strike 
was in progress, and the white-collared 
brigade recruited from the desks of the ship- 
ping company's skyscraper had sworn to 
turn the Gargantuan round and get her to 
sea again, with mails, passengers, bunker- 
coal, and some at least of her cargo. They 
were going to mEike good, it seemed, thanks 
not a little to the strong force of police who 

F. Britten Austin 


protected them from the none too benevolent 
solicitude of the awkwardly-idle workers who 
massed sullenly beyond the locked dock- 
gates. But not one of that grim little group 
in the dilapidated parlour was either a striker 
or a worker. 

Neither Chlodzky the Pole, Lipoff the 
Russian, nor he, Jake Bravinsky, the weedy, 
degenerate product of two generations in 
East-end London, had ever done a day's 
work in their lives except under the stern 
pressure of necessity or the law. He, Jake 
Bravinsky, urgently needing distance between 
himself and the English police, had certainly 
assisted to fire the stokehold of a freighter 
all the way from Liverpool to New York — 
and when they arrived the chief engineer had 
met him half-way and fired him. That was 
his only recent occasion of labour, and none 
of the others could boast of activities less 
remote. Yet they were not conscious hypo- 
crites, these men. Viewing themselves in 
the distorted mirrors of their souls, they were 
rather martyrs, they who preached, with 
fierce energies sustained on a meagre pittance 
from mysterious sources, the Cause, the Red 
Revolution that should, in theory at least, 
glut the poverty-stricken with the wealth of 
their oppressors. 

Red Revolutionary also was Rosa Bauer- 
mann, the most fanatic, the least self-seeking 
of them all. He, Jake Bravinsky, could never 
look upon her without a little secret awe — 
and yet her ugly great gash of a red mouth, 
her blazing dark eyes, her bobbed black hair, 
fascinated him, stirred him to the depths. 

" Whose shall be the honour ? " Comrade 
O'Donnell had pursued, looking round upon 
the group, his pleasant, well-bred voice in 
ironic incongruity with his more than shabby 
appearance and the terrible implication of 
his query. " What comrade's hand shall 
deal the blow ? " 

And Rosa Bauermann had turned her head 
towards him, Jake Bravinsky, had looked 
upon him — had looked right into him so 
that he shuddered — with those great dark 
eyes that flashed enigmas. And Jake Bravin- 
sky 's little human soul was suddenly molten 
as tliough with volcanic fires — he hacl caught 
his breath with the strangeness of it, could 
not, for an agonized moment where Rosa 
Bauermann seemed like a brooding divinity 
that filled the room ready to bestow itself 
upon high daring, cry out his acceptance. 

His own voice had sounded strange to him 
when he uttered it. " Give it 'ere, comrade ! 

I'll do the job ! 'Aven't I done ? " and 

he had boasted vaingloriously of fire-raising 
and sabotage. He ventured a glance towards 
Comrade Rosa, found her still smiling in fierce 
appreciation, and boasted again. And Com- 
rade O'Donnell had handed him the lump of 

And then the next picture — the funnels 
and upper works of the Gargantuan lividly 
illumined in the glare of the purplish-white 
arc-lamps that painted her on the night as 
the volunteer gangs worked feverishly at 
her, shift relieving shift. The long line of 
warehouses in the deep contrasting shadow 
from that blaze blackened out the bottom 
of the picture — a blackness to which he crept 
and dodged, avoiding scrutiny, a heavy object 
close-hugged to his breast. 

On the quayside, criss-crossed by railroad 
tracks, locomotives puffed and shrieked as 
they butted their trains of clanking freight- 
cars, vehicle by vehicle, to the tips. Car 
after car, quoined on the platform of the 
cages, rose its twenty feet upon the elevator, 
heeled suddenly, and discharged its black 
contents, with a clattering, clanging roar, 
down the iron shoot into the bunkers of the 
ship. Train beyond train, of coal and mer- 
chandise, stood ranged upon the sidings, 
awaiting its turn for sling or cataract. 

TOWARDS one of those trains, the nearest, 
he crept stealthily from shadow to 
shadow, weak-kneed fear and dia- 
bolical malice at conflict within him. He 
cursed, automatically, under his breath, in 
an escape of nervous tension, as he ap- 
proached it. It stood enginfcless, unguarded, 
but to his disgust not one car of it was in 
the shadow. 

For a moment he had hesitated, his burden 
heavy in ' his arms, in a temptation of 
relinquishment. Then the image of Rosa 
Bauermann, her smile of enigma turning 
upon him, had come up before him — and the 
fierce little chemist's exultant phrase, " Blow 
de belly out of her ! " had echoed in strange 
depths of him, an invocation that called up 
a flood of his bitter primitive hatred for 
these phenomena of a civilization from which 
he was excluded, and which he himself was 
impotent to create. The Sioux prowling 
around the stockade, the barbarian bursting 
in upon the monuments of Ancient Rome, 
ground their teeth ev£n as he, in just such a 
blind jealous rage of destruction. 

During long minutes he had crouched in 
the shadow^'for his spring, awaiting oppor- 
tunity. Then, in a temporary complete 
desertion of that stretch of quay, he leaped 
forward to the nearest truck, the last in the 

In the full illumination, the white car- 
number, the black on white of the large 
label—" 34,518— Bunker-Coal— SS. Gargan- 
tuan" — were vividly distinct before his 
vision, on a level with his eyes. He judged 
his distance, and hurled the thing he carried. 
The lump of pseudo-coal fell upon the 
heaped-up coal of the truck, indistinguishable 
from anv other lump. 



The Infernal Machine 

" Blow de belly out of her ! " — the fiercely 
vindictive phrase of the little German- Jew 
cripple had rung in his ears as he turned and 
fled into the night. 

Then the great moment of relief when, a 
seemingly endless period of waiting in the 
shadows by the dock-gates suddenly termi- 
nated, he had mingled" with the crowd of a 
shift coming off work and under the protec- 
tion of a posse of policemen had passed into 
the street where the sullen crowd of strikers 
congregated. His job was done— even now 
perhaps that artfully dissimulated canister 
of steel was sliding into the depths of the 
great, liner like a germ of death unperceived 
but inevitable. Now to announce it to the 
comrades ! . 

The picture of Rosa Bauermann, with 
her shock of black hair over her disturbing 
eyes, her great red gash of a mouth parted 
in a smile that was no longer enigmatic, 
haunted him as he dodged out of the crowd 
of " scabs " and sped, at a run, down the 
squalid streets to that little boarded-up 
saloon. His heart thumped heavily and 
unsteadily in his breast as he gave the 
arranged sequence of knocks upon its 
muddied door. He waited. It opened not. 
He knocked again, and again waited. Still 
it remained shut, no sound or hint of life 
behind it. A quavering anxiety came up in 
him^-Surely they would have waited for his 
return ? — Rosa, at least ? What had hap- 
pened ? He knocked more loudly, yet now. 
sure in advance that there would be no 
response. The house echoed under his knock 
like a place deserted. 

Then, a policeman came round the corner, 
approached him with the measured, un- 
hurried step of a patrol upon his normal 
beat. Jake waited not for that scrutiny he 
never dared confront. Whelmed in a dis- 
appointment that chilled his body, he had 
slunk away, a bitter curse upon his lips. 

He was filled with*a sombre anger against 
his confederates as he shuffled off to the 
miserable garret which was his home. They 
had better not play any tricks on him — or, 
sure as fate, he'd peach ! He'd show 'em 
whether he, Jake Bravinsky, was a man to 
be trifled with ! He had a little vision of 
the group of them< Rosa included, standing 
in the dock, himself as State's evidence 
scorning their impotent rage. A variant of 
ttys picture was the last clear thought in his 
mind as he drew his ragged, dirty blanket over 
him and sank into a sleep that was the pro- 
found reaction after the strains of the day. 

HE had awakened with the touch of a 
hand upon his shoulder. His blind 
start from the bed was the instinctive 
movement of an animal habitually under 
menace and now trapped. He looked up, 

in a pang of terror, into the face bent 
over him, the heavy, impassive coun- 
tenance of a policeman. As he glanced 
around him, in the chill grey light of 
early morning, he saw that his garret 
was abnormally peopled — another police- 
man behind the one who had awakened him, 
and, near the door, two men in plain 
clothes whom he instinctively recognized as 
from Scotland Yard. 

" Come quietly, Jake," had said the voice 
from that moustachioed face up to which he 
stared. " We've got you." 

The tightening of the grip upon his 
shoulder bore in upon him the hopelessness 
of escape. He let himself relax, resigned 

" What's it for ? " he had asked, sullenly. 
He remembered now, vividly, the sudden 
panic fear he had all but betrayed. Was it 
for his last night's job ? The thought drove 
the blood from his heart — a life sentence 
loomed startlingly inevitable, life or little 
less. He had not dared to raise his eyes. 

It was one of the plain-clothes men who 
had answered. 

" I have a warrant for your arrest, Jake 
Bravinsky, on a charge of arson in Glasgow 
last May. I give you the usual warning." 

Glasgow last May ! He had almost 
shrieked mocking laughter in the revulsion 
of his relief . 

A few hours later, shrunken between the 
two large policemen, he had shuffled into the 
dock of a district police-court just com- 
mencing its business of the morning. The 
magistrate, who had glanced up at him 
with contemptuous indifference, could not 
suspect the exultant, savage triumph which 
filled that distorted little soul behind the 
pinched and pallid face. He had done 
'em ! They hadn't found out ! No matter 
what they did to him, he had got his 
revenge ! He'd show 'em ! He gloated over 
the thought of that car-load of bunker-coal 
pouring into the bowels of the Gargan- 
tuan, visualized, with an unholy glee the 
more satisfying in that it was perforce secret, 
the great liner throbbing on her course, her 
thousands of unconscious passengers at ease 
on her multitudinous decks, serenely superior 
to the ordinary perils of the sea, until that 
inevitable moment when an unsuspecting 
stoker — he loathed stokers and stokeholds 
with a fierce and personal hatred — hurled the 
shovelful of coal on to her furnace fires. 

Absorbed in this vision, he had scarcely 
heard the charge as it was r^td over to him. 
It concerned something very remote from 
him — he had almost forgotten that warehouse 
in Glasgow — the real, vital thing for which 
he was responsible was hidden from these 
blind fools. He exulted childishly. And 
they'd never know r — for once he was certain 

F. Britten Austin 


" He stood paralyzed in an awful terror, yel impelled, almost beyond restraint, to 

by Got ' hnek 

a protest. 



The Infernal Machine 

of immunity in his war against an un- 
sympathetic world, for once he'd done 'em ! 
He felt savagely contemptuous of the stolid 
policeman who gave evidence of arrest. 

Then one of the plain-clothes men stood up 
in the court, addressed himself to the magis- 
trate. What was he saying ? 

. . . we should be obliged if you would 
make an order without adjournment of this 
case. We hold a warrant for the extradition 
of the accused." He passed it up to the 
magistrate. " His presence in England is 
urgently required for trial with his con- 
federates already arrested. We have re- 
tained a passage for him on the Gargantuan, 
which sails to-morrow morning." 

The Gargantuan ! The name, a cymbal- 
clash of significance, awoke him with a shock 
at the heart to full realization of the detec- 
tive's matter-of-fact request. The Gargan- 
tuan ! Upon the moment he stood paralyzed 
in an awful terror, sweat pearling upon him, 
his tongue dry in his mouth, yet impelled, 
almost beyond restraint, to shriek a protest. 
No ! No ! — not the Gargantuan ! He jerked 
a wild, eye-dilated glance around him, as 
though in a dread of visible appearance of the 
supernatural. The irony which condemned 
him to his own destruction was nothing less 
than this to his primitive mind. He gasped 
for his only sound. 

SITTING alone down there in that bare 
cabin in the depths of the ship, his hands 
worked convulsively in repetition of his 
tense clutch upon the balustrade of the dock 
as he lived through the scene again — saw 
once more the magistrate nod his calm 

Shriek out a warning ? Would they 
believe him ? He knew ».only too well that 
they would not. He had no proof — only 
his word, the word of a man obviously eager 
to postpone the processes of the law. Would 
the shipping company hold up the great 
liner, throw perhaps a hundred thousand 
dollars' worth of coal into the sea in despair 
of identifying the fatal lump, upon his mere 
assertion ? He knew that they would not. 
The most they would do would be sceptically 
to warn the firemen of the ship to keep a 
sharp look-out for any suspicious block of 
coal — and he could well appraise, none 
better, the futility of such casual inspection. 
And even if they listened — even if, im- 
probably, he dodged the voyage of the 
Gargantuan — he would be assuredly shot or 
stabbed later on for his betrayal. He knew 
the "comrades." Either way he was in a 

And now here he was — he came back to 
himself after this half-dreaming recapitula- 
tion of the episodes leading up to his present 
situation — shut up in the depths of the great 

liner throbbing her way, with a powerful, 
steady whirring of her turbine engines, into 
the immensity of the ocean. Down below — 
in those hellish stokeholds — the half-naked 
firemen were shovelling the coal into the 
white-hot glare of her furnaces, shovelling 
and again shovelling until at last one lump 
that left their shovels for its fiery bed — he 
jumped to his feet again in a shriek of terror, 
banged against the door with frenzied fists. 

He went mad, felt himself going more and 
more mad, flung himself at that locked door 
in a whirlwind of blind, wild energies that 
swept through him as from a source beyond 
him. Voice, feet, and fists clamoured for 
release from this trap as, like a caged wild 
animal overmastered by its instincts, he 
hurled himself again and again against that 
door which would not open. For all 
response, he might have been alone in a 
world destitute of man. His blows ceased 
suddenly, he sank down, his brain drugged in 
the stupefaction of an immense fatigue. 

He slept, while that gloomy little cell 
about him, deep down in the mighty organ- 
ism, quivered with the rush of the great liner 
as she hurried out to sea. 

How long Jake Bravinsky lay in blessed 
unconsciousness at the foot of that door he 
did not know. He was awakened by its 
opening, by a sudden glare as the electric- 
light was switched on. One of the detectives 
stood over him, accompanying a steward 
who brought food. 

With dulled faculties that fumbled for 
definition of the vague terror he knew to be 
somewhere in the back of his mind — what 
was it ? — he rose stiffly to his feet, tottered 
to his bunk. Then, seated, he looked up at 
the detective and remembered. His teeth 
chattered in the shiver which came over him.* 
His lips parted as if for sudden utterance, but 
he could only stare dumbly. What use was 
it ? — his brain began to work again — even if 
they turned round now the very next 
shovelful of costt might — he balked at exact 
imagination of the cataclysm. 

His deep-lying, bitter hatred of the law 
and its representatives surged up in him 
suddenly, presented to him doubtless by his 
subconscious self for solace, blotting out all 
else. Anyway, they were all in the same 
boat ! They'd all go up, all drown, together 
— no warning, no chance to summon help by- 
wireless ! He almost chuckled as he thought 
of that stolidly superior detective dead — 
dead and unsuspecting until the moment. 

They'd all go like that, the ! He 

grouped them, all of them, everybody that 
was not himself, in an ugly word for justifica- 
tion of his enmity. 

After a glance around the cabin, a test of 
the screwed-tight porthole, the detective 
motioned out the steward. 


F. Britten Austin 


M Not so much of that noise, now ! " he 
said, standing over his prisoner. " Or we'll 
tie you up and gag you for the rest of the 
trip- 1 — you understand ? " There was genuine 
menace in his tone. The weedy little wretch 
shrank back from him instinctively, the 
blood of two generations of gutter-thieves 
asserting itself in this close proximity to 
law personified. His bloodless lips quivered, 
but he made no sound. 

After one last nod of significance, the 
detective left him to his food, turned the key 
once more upon him. 

The first mouthful nearly choked him, 
but then, hunger awaking at the taste, he ate 
ravenously, was still unsatisfied when all was 

He sat crouched upon the edge of his 
bunk; staring vacantly at the door, his mind 
fixed upon the continuance of that faintly- 
heard humming of the turbines, of that 
quivering vibration which pervaded the 
ship. The whirl of that machinery which 
drove them unflaggingly onward, which 
might at any moment cease, held him 
fascinated. At each moment he expected 
the all-shaking roar. His brain worked 
feverishly, as with an independent will, 
placing before him again and again pictures 
that he could not banish — the uprush of a 
sheet of flame, the headlong plunge beneath 
waves dotted with human heads of the great 
liner, decks ripped open and funnels awry — 
himself in the cabin clinging to the bunk as 
she sank sickeriingly in utter darkness. Again 
and again these pictures came before him, 
in a merciless repetition, curiously exterior to 
himself, as though he stared at a maddening 
reiteration of the self-same scenes upon the 
screen of a cinematograph — in his head the 
whirring, identical with the whirring of the 
turbines, of the machine that would not 

At length he sank into an uneasy sleep, to 
be awakened from a nightmare where he 
was clutched by nameless things by the two 
detectives standing over him. 

" Tithe for exercise, Jake," said one of 
them, as the prisoner stared blankly into his 

He roused himself stupidly, grasping only 
two outstanding facts. He was still alive. 
That infernal whirring in his head had 

The three of them passed out of the cabin 
into the long corridor, tenanted only by 
cleaners and an occasional hurrying steward, 
climbed stairways and again stairways, and 
finally emerged into the damp early-morning 
chill of the open air. They passed aft to 
the steerage deck, where a few sailors were 
busy with hose and swabs. No other 
passengers had yet made their appearance. 

His terror woke alive again in the wretched 

prisoner as, between his captors, he walked 
up and down that deck at a pace which they 
dictated to him. In his sleep down below 
there, the menace to his existence, although 
ever at the back of his consciousness, had 
lost actuality— seemed unbelievable when 
he awoke. Up here, on the deck of the great 
ship, whose white superstructure lifted and 
sank against the greys of a stormy sky, her 
shrouds moaning in the cold wind, which 
smote him. like a douche, he was brought 
sharply back to contact with reality. It 
was real — terribly real — this ship solitary 
upon the vast ocean where great waves 
rolled with foaming whitenesses under the 
torn clouds of an incipient gale. Even her 
immensity dipped to their turbulence. 

THE gale grew worse as the day wore on. 
Even Jake Bravinsky, immured in his 
steel cell far below decks, could tell that 
its violence increased from hour to hour. The 
loose fittings of the cabin jangled and rang 
in the staggering impact of the ship into the 
great waves which smote her at brief and 
almost regular intervals. The streaming glass 
disc of the port rose disturbingly towards a 
# zenith which flooded the confined space 
with a cold grey light, and fell back again 
through a long arc to souse itself in green 
waters and a temporary gloom. Though he 
could see nothing, the panic-gripped wretch 
crouched upon his bunk could imagine the 
totality of the scene. 

His hyperexcited mental activity began 
to find new channels for itself. He found 
himself speculating — unable to stop speculat- 
ing, a new form of torment reeled out by that 
ceaselessly whifring machine in his head — 
on the nature of *the explosion when it should 
occur. Would he hear it in this part of 
the ship ? He remembered, in newspaper 
accounts of torpedoings during the war, the 
statements of passengers in big liners who 
had heard nothing, fell? only a slight shock, 
when the ship's side was blown in. That 
diabolical little German- Jew's infernal 
machine would explode deep down in the 
very centre of the vessel — " blow de belly 
out of her " ; the forecast rang in his ears. 
What sound would come to him here ? A 
mighty roar, rending her vitals, flinging 
everyone prostrate, or ? 

What was that ? His heart stopped in 
recognition of a far-away, muffled shock. He 
listened, his senses strained to an intense 
acuteness. What was that dull shock, deep 
down in the ship ? His scream rang, strange 
and terrifying, in his ears, unconscious as he 
was that he had uttered it. He started from 
his bunk, clutched at the edge of it with 
claw-like, rigid fingers, sweat pearling upon 
his forehead, ;is he steadied himself upon the 
slopiin^ floor that' listed away under him and 


The Infernal Machine 

came not back. He listened, ears at strain 
for the slightest sound. There was a 
strange hush, an utter absence of the 
vibration so long continued. The engines 
had stopped ! 

At last ! It was the explosion. He had 
no doubt of it. A breathless terror swept 
over him, denying utterance to the flood of 
wild blasphemy which rose in him like an 
inversion of agonized prayer. Mingled with 
it was a great relief. The whirring of that 
infernal machine in his head had stopped. 
He could think now, think with a rapid 
lucidity that , amazed him. His mind, 
miraculously alert, took in all the implica- 
tions of his position, while yet he clung 
to the bunk, speechless and incapable of 

Would anyone come to let him out ? 
There was a rapid scurry of feet along the 
corridor. It passed, ceased definitely. Then, 
in heart-stopping confirmation of his fear, 
the light in the corridor went out suddenly. 
He stood, clutching at his bunk, in an 
absolute darkness that enveloped him almost 
tangibly. He let go of the bunk in a dash 
for where he Un>ew the door to be, slipped, 
with a sharp stab of accentuated terror, upon 
a wet floor sloping permanently at an acute 
angle, despite its slow rise and its seemingly 
endless subsequent subsidence. He crawled 
upwards on it, knocked his head against the 
door, pulled himself upright with a grasp 
upon its handle. Then, in a sudden access, 
he found his voice. He shrieked — piercingly, 
shriek upon shriek that rang through an 
appalling silence— shrieked like a maniac 
forgotten in his cell. 

NONE came to answer him. There was 
no sound in the corridor outside. The 
_ frenzied man huddled there in the 
darkness against the wall wet with water 
from the leaking port had no doubt of 
it. . He knew. . That infernal chunk of coal 
had done its work only too well. Para- 
lyzed for any movement, his imagination 
worked feverishly, and yet, in that com- 
plete dark, could form no definite mental 
images. To his horror, tha l t terrifying 
machine in his head had started again — 
beyond his control. It was like being in a 
darkened movie-hall where the still whirring 
machine could only project flitting and « 
fragmentary pictures from a torn film in the 
intervals of frequent " black-outs " upon the 
screen. But still the machine went on 
maddeningly — the more maddening because 
somehow the machine was part of himself. 
The mental photograph of a sinking derelict 
he had once seen recurred over and over 
again in that patchy sequence — the hulk 
sagging in the seas which lapped over her, 
higher and imperceptibly higher — the decks 

awash, waves licking the canvas of her 
bridge — and then the silent, sudden engulf- 
ment, disappearance. 

Were they still afloat, upon the surface ? 
He dared not give himself the answer. 
Even though they had sunk beneath the 
wave-tops, he remembered — all scraps ,oi 
apposite knowledge that he had ever picked 
up coming to him with a memory preter- 
naturally acute — that great ships like the 
Gargantuan, if their bulkheads were closed, 
did not drop like a stone to the bottom of 
the sea, but remained, swung as it were 
at an intermediate depth, in a slow and 
gradual subsidence as one compartment after 
another was burst into by the pressure of the 

Then, in that pitch blackness, the ship 
gave a heavy lurch, lifted once more as with 
difficulty, subsided in a long roll that threw 
him against the wall. The floor seemed to 
sink endlessly beneath him. He clawed 
himself partially upright and shrieked, with 
his last breath, curses — curses — curses — upon 
Rosa Bauermann, upon the " comrades," 
upon that diabolical little German- Jew. 
Yes, she was going now — going finally. He 
shrieked once more in that awful, oppressive 
blackness, shrieked, his ears singing, that 
infernal machine in his head — behind the 
eyes that could not see — whirring madly to a 
climax, shrieked with his heart seeming to 
burst his breast, shrieked — there was a 
mighty crash somewhere. The last bulk- 
head ! He essayed one more shriek that 
was soundless, would not come beyond a 
gurgle, put his hands blindly to his face, 
felt them, with a feeble wonderment, wet 
with a warm fluid from his mouth, reeled 
dizzily upon that sloping floor. Ah ! at 
last, thank Gawd ! thank Gawd ! — there were 
lights, lights ! — flashes and stars of dancing 
light ! He pitched, head foremost, into a 
gulf of blackness. 

AS dawn broke, the ss. Gargantuan, 
crippled by a couple of smashed pro- 
peller-shafts, and afflicted with a heavy 
list to port that caused her.captain to analy^ e 
expletively the ineptitude' of an amateur 
stevedore gang at stowing cargo, was picked 
up by a large freighter with a nose for salvage. 
Her passengers, who had whiled away the 
anxious hours by singing hymns or playing 
poker, according to their various tastes, had 
all of them long ago forgotten the temporary 
inconvenience caused them by a ten minutes 1 
breakdown of the electric-lighting dynamos 
at the critical moment. 

A few houi£ later the ship's doctor wrote 
out, for the behoof of two exasperated 
detectives, a technically exact certificate 
of the death of Jake Bravinsky from 
natural causes. " Burst blood-vessel," he 


F, Britten Austin 


He sank into an uneasy sleep, to be awakened by the two detectives standing over him/* 

interpreted laconically, as they scratched 
their heads over his text-book diagnosis. 

ABOUT the same time the American 
manager of the shipping company 
was dictating a letter to the harbour 
authorities wherein he expressed himself as 
highly dissatisfied with their attitude in 
regard to freight car No. 34,518- laden with 

Digitised by tj< 

bunker-coal for the ks. Gargantuan, and 
hurled into the dock by a mob of infuriated 
strikers the night before the ship sailed. 

If the spirits of the departed can revisit 
this earthly sphere, it is pleasant to think 
that possibly around that irate manager 
hovered the equally irate but impotent shade 
of Jake Bravinsky, frightened out of existence 
under false pretences. 


94 PERPLEXITIES. By henry e. dudeney. 


An important use of good puzzles is that they often 
teach us that a problem, otherwise impossible of solu- 
tion, may be mastered by devising some ingenious 
method of attack adapted to the particular case- Here 

k an example. The diagram represents a simplified 
railway system,, and I want to know how many different 
ways there are of going from A to E, if I never go twice 
along the same line in any journey. This is a very 
simple proposition, but practically impossible of solu- 
tion until you have hit on some method of recording 
the routes. You see, there are many ways of going, 
from the short route A B D E, taking one of the large 
loops, up to the long route ABCDBCDBCDE, 
which takes you over every line on the system and can 
itself be varied in order in many ways. Now, how 
many different ways of going are there ? 

Near the close of the last football season a corre- 
spondent, J. G., informed me that when he was return- 
ing from Glasgow after the international match 
between Scotland and England the following 
caught his eye in a newspaper : — 



I Played. 































Scotland . . 
England . . 

As he knew, of course, that Scotland had beaten 
England by 3 — o. it struck him that it might be pos- 
sible to find the scores in the other five matches from 
the table. In this he succeeded. Can you discover 
from it how many goals were won, drawn, or lost by 
each side in every match ? 

We all know the old puzzle of the alleged inscription 
over the Ten Commandments on the wall of some 
religious institution :— 

Which is read by interpolating the vowel E at everv 
dot, when it becomes PERSEVERE YE PERFECT 
But can you make sense of the following by intro- 
ducing one and the same vowel wherever required ? 
R T F R M L G W D. 

A CERTAIN division in an army was composed of a 
little over 20,000 men, made up of five brigades. It 
was known that one-third of the first brigade, two- 
sevenths of the second brigade, seven- twelfths of the 
third, nine-thirteenths of the fourth, and fifteen- 
twenty -seconds of the fifth brigade happened in every 
case to be the same number of men. Can you dis- 
cover how many men there were in every brigade ? 


1. — Mind, a rat is on it. 
2. — A cute call. 
3.— Tis gin tea. 
4. — O, Ma, Pa ran. 
5. — Dan ties it on. 

6. — No car ! Let me go ! 
7. — Ma kept a lion. 
8. — Meat is on it. 
9. — No tool is right. 
10. — Let man love. 

Make one word from the letters in each line. 

Solutions to Last Month's Puzzles. 


Fold through the |<^ C 

mid points of the 

opposite sides and 

get the lines A O B 

and COD. Also 

fold E H and F G, 

bisecting A and 

O B. Turn over 

A K so that K lies 

on the line E H. at 

the point E, and 

then fold A E and 

E O G. Similarly 

find H and fold AH 

and H F. Now fold B F, B G, E F and H G, and 

EFBGHAEisthe regular hexagon required. 

/v "7 

The four solutions are as follows : — 


From an inspection we can prove that the divisor 
must exceed 249, that it cannot exceed 500 unless 
the first and third figures in quotient be 1, that the 
product of the last figure in divisor and quotient must 
have a 4 in the digits place, etc. Then the number of 
trials to be actually made is small, if you use thought 
and judgment. For example, if you have placed a 4 
in the second place of divisor and 1 in third place of 
quotient, the 4 in the sixth line must obviously appear. 

The illustration shows the 
correct solution, with pips 
adding up to 66, the highest 
possible. If, after placing the 
four sixes, you are tempted 
to place four fives, you cannot 
then complete the square 
with fours, threes, and twos, 
but will have to use two ones You will thus get 
only 64 pips, instead of 66. 

m m • # mmm # 


# - # * ##>< . • 
#"• • # • "• 

mm » * • • 

• • • • • • • 

m # • mm 

m m m m # » 

+"»•••• #" 

m m mmm m # 

If the result given is odd the even number is in the 
right hand ; if even, the odd number is in the right 
hand. An even number multiplied by either an odd 
ojc even ^number will produce an even number. An 
odd number -multiplied by an odd number will alone 
produce odd, And if the result given is even both 
products added must be even ; if the result is odd, one 
product is even and the other odd. The former result 
can only happen when the even number is multiplied 
by the 7 ; the latter when the odd number is multiplied 









The Glory 
of Devon in 
a Packet! 

Delicious, Nourishing, Sustaining, 

5d., iod., and 1/8 Cakes and 5d. and iod. Packets 
(Neapolitans). Of everyone selling Confectionery. 

James Pascall, Limited, London, S.E. 

Orininal frnm 







by Google 

Original from 



{5M page ^i) 




presented the 
appearance of 
an exit from a foot- 
ball ground after a 
Cup- tie. One of their 
periodical sales was 
in progress, and fren- 
zied women fought 
furiously over rem- 
nants and other things dear to 
the feminine soul. In odd 
comers a few unfortunate men 
who had been lured in contem- 
plated the scene with terror, 
while wave after wave of bar- 
gain-hunters surged past them with the light 
of battle in their eyes. 

The tobacco department was a back- 
water — calm and peaceful — and from it Jim 
Fairfax surveyed the scene with a faint smile. 
He had bought the tobacco he wanted, and 
some cigars for his brother-in-law, and was 
waiting for his parcel to be done up. And 
though he was supremely unconscious of the 
fact, at least two of the girls who assisted in 
that department were as interested in him 
as he was in the struggle close at hand* 
Sales they had seen often ; men like Jim 
Fairfax very rarely. Brown and tanned 
with tropical suns, he had the clear, direct 
look in his eyes which comes only with an 
open-air life and big spaces. They were very 
blue, and he smiled with them in a way that 
was wholly charming — at least so many 
women had thought, and even told the owner 
— though up to date the information had not 
affected him greatly. Also he was about 
thirty- three, which is not a bad age for an 
unattached bachelor with a certain amount 
of money. Added to which his clothes fitted 
him, and he was as well groomed as a man 
has any right to be. Small wonder, then, at 
the interest of the two assistants. 

He turned to the man who gave him his 

'" Can one get through ? " he hazarded, 






Vol lviL-7, 

Copyright, t$3t, by H. C. McNeile. 

waving a hand at the 

The man grinned. 
" It has been done, 
sir, Which depart- 
ment do you want ? " 
" Jewellery/' an- 
swered Fairfax. 

" Third to the left 
and straight on, sir," 
It took him five 
minutes to get there, but at last 
he arrived, gasping. The jewel- 
lery department itself was not 
the scene of much activity, but 
its position was unfortunate. 
It lay between the lingerie and 
the Government linen, and two streams of 
packed humanity were passing ceaselessly 
through it. And only the fact that a small 
present to his sister was as invariable a 
matter of. routine on his periodical returns 
from Uganda as cigars for her husband 
made him remain at the counter. 
" Rings, sir ? Certainly." 
The man produced a tray, and Jim Fairfax 
bent over it. He didn't want anything too 
expensive, but he was tremendous pals with 
his sister, and he had only landed that morn- 
ing after three years in Africa, Something 
about twenty or thirty pounds, he reflected 
— -and at that moment he very distinctly felt 
a hand come through between his right elbow 
and his side. In a flash the lazy, whimsical 
look in his eyes had vanished, to be replaced 
by one that was very different. Behind him 
the crowd was wedged in a complete block \ 
on the other side of the counter the assistant 
was bending down for another tray, And 
in his left hand, gripped tight as a vice, was 
a small wrist H 

He swung round and stared over his shoul- 
der — stared into the terrified eyes of a girl. 
Her face was close to his, and it struck him, 
with a sort of dull amazement that it was one 
of the loveliest he had ever seen, A thief — a 
woman shoplifter ? Jim Fairfax was no 
fool to b<? captivated by a pretty face ; in 

9 8 

An Unconventional Introduction 

the course of his life the hard taskmaster 
of experience had taught him the folly of 
judging by appearances. But somehow or 
other — for the girl to be a thief ! He felt as 
if he had been hit on the jaw. 

Her breath was coming in little panting 
gasps as she struggled for a second or two to 
free her hand ; then, with what was almost 
a sob, she gave up trying and turned her 
head away. And Jim Fairfax was reminded 
of a trapped animal. 

On the instant he made up his mind. 
He might be a fool, and he was certainly 
wrong, but he felt that he could not give this 
girl away. And so he turned completely 
round with his back to the counter and faced 
her. Then he looked down at her right 

" Open it, please/' he ordered, quietly. 

WITHOUT *a word she did so, and he 
frowned slightly. Lying in the palm 
was a ring with a big pearl surrounded 
by a ring of smaller diamonds. He glanced 
at her face, and it was deathly white ; then 
he looked back again at the ring. 

" So that is the one you prefer," he said, 
deliberately. He drew her forward nearer 
the counter and spoke to the assistant. 

" Don't bother about any more ; the lady 
likes this one." He held it out, and the man 
took it to examine the price. 

And now the girl was staring at him fear- 
fully, as if the thing had got beyond her. 

" What are you going to do ? " she whis- 
pered at length, while the assistant was 
placing the ring in a box. 

" I am going to ask for the pleasure of 
your company at tea," answered Jim Fairfax, 
quietly. " They supply it, I believe, up- 
stairs—or they did when I was last in Eng- 
land. And I rather want to talk to you." 

" But I don't understand," she stammered, 
and then fell silent as she watched him pull 
out his pocket-book and pay fifty pounds 
across the counter. And she was still 
staring at him half-dazedly five minutes 
later as he gave an order to a waitress for 

" Well," he said, when they were alone, 
" would you please explain ? " 

" I don't know that there is anything to 
explain," she answered, and her voice was 
very low. " I tried to steal that ring — and 
you caught me." 

" That," he agreed, gravely, " is fairly 
obvious. But might I ask why you did it ? " 

" You wouldn't understand if I told you." 
She was making a desperate effort to keep 
her hands from trembling, and suddenly Jim 
Fairfax smiled. She seemed such a pathetic 
little criminal. 

" I might make an attempt, anyway," he 
remarked, quietly. " However — leaving that 

for the moment — might I ask if you do this 
sort of thing often ? " 

Her face flamed, and then, as she met his 
imperturbable look, her eyes slowly filled 
with tears. 

" I suppose you won't believe me," she 
whispered, " but I've never done such a 
thing before." 

" On the contrary," he answered, " I 
believe you absolutely. If you will forgive 
my saying so,, you were so incredibly clumsy 
that it was obvious on the face of it. If you 
intend to specialize in the line you must get 
much better at it." 

" Don't ; for God's sake— don't ! " She 
wrung her hands together and the tears 
began to well over. " I was mad — utterly 
mad. I don't know what came over me to 
do such a thing." 

" Pull down your veil over your eyes," he 
said, gently. " The waitress is advancing 
on us with buttered toast and things." 

He watched her as she poured out the tea, 
and for a moment the humorous side of the 
situation struck him. Then, being a man 
who took stock of such things, he noticed her 
hands. And her hands were in keeping with 
the rest of her — perfect. 

" Did it strike you," he continued, as he 
took the cup she handed him, " that if you 
had got away with the swag, as I believe they 
call it, you'd have left me in the rather awk- 
ward position of apparently having taken the 
ring myself ? " 

The girl stared at him speechlessly. " Oh, 
no — no ! " she said, after a little breathless 
pause. " I didn't think about that ; I didn't 
think about anything, except " 

" Except getting the ring," Jim Fairfax 
nodded. " I thought that was probably so. 
And what did you want the ring for ? To 
wear ? Your hands are quite sufficiently 
beautiful without rings, you know." 

The girl looked at him quickly, but his tone 
was quite impersonal. 

" I didn't want it to wear ; I wanted it to 

" To sell ! " Jim Fairfax was intent upon 
his buttered toast. " To steal a ring and sell 
it implies poverty — great poverty. And, if 
I may say so, your general appearance hardly 
gives one the impression of that." 

" They've gone without meat at home for 
the last three months to give me this coat and 
skirt when I came to London," said the girl, 
in a voice that shook a little. 

" It seems a very nice coat and skirt," he 

" But you can't go to a dance in a coat 
and skirt, can you ? " 

" Not unless fashions have changed in the 
last three years, " agreed Fairfax. " So you 
proposed to buy an evening frock with the 
proceeds, Is that it 7 *• M 

H. C. McNeile (" Sapper") 


" Yes," she whispered, " that's it." And 
then, with a quiet deliberation that seemed 
oddly at variance with her previous manner, 
she put both her elbows on the table and 
stared at the man opposite. " That's it. 
And I suppose to a man like you — obviously 
wealthy — such a thing is incredible. It 
would have been to me — until a quarter of 
an hour ago. But before you take whatever 
steps you are going to take — before you finish 
this game which I suppose is amusing you — 
I want to tell you one or two things. They 
aren't excuses ; they're facts. My father is 
the proud possessor of three hundred pounds 
a year. On that my mother and I have to 
be supported. Some time ago an old school 
friend of my mother's asked if I might come 
and stay up with her in London for a few 
weeks. Quite a normal sort of invitation a 
man would think — very pleasant. I suppose 
you've never had to stop at a house where 
you've been ashamed of the maid seeing your 
underclothes ? " 

Jim Fairfax suppressed a smile. " Go on," 
he said, quietly. 

THE girl bit her Up. " It all sounds so 
petty — so mean. In my heart I knew 
what would happen ; so did my mother. 
But a man's different — and my father 
couldn't understand my hesitation. I wanted 
to come, though I knew I'd be miserable if I 
did. But he — he insisted. He wanted me 
to meet some men — perhaps get engaged — 
married. And he couldn't understand that 
in that set a girl must have lots of clothes if 
she isn't going to be utterly out of it." 

" May I smoke ? " he asked, thoughtfully 
holding out his cigarette-case to her. 

She shook her head. " Not now, thank 
you. You go on — but I — I want to try and 
make you understand. I was asked to 
dances, of course ; I went with my hostess — 
naturally. And I had two evening frocks — 
both of them two years old. I wonder if you 
can realize what that means." 

" Much the same," said the man, gravely, 
" as it means when a man with two hundred 
a year gets in with a set who all have two 
thousand. And there is only one way out 
for him — to break with the set." 

She gave a weary little laugh. 

" Oh I I knew it would sound contemp- 
tible to you," she cried. " I know there is 
no excuse. But to-morrow night is the last 
dance I am going to before I go home. It's 
not a big one, and all the people I know will 
be there. I felt I simply couldn't turn up 
in one of my two old rags, and have all of 
them pointing and whispering. Of course, 
they don't really point, and they don't say 
anything— but I know what they're think- 
ing. Why, even the woman I'm staying with 
asked me this morning if I hadn't got some- 

thing else to wear. You see, there's a man 
going who is — who is rather fond of me, I 
think, and — and " 

" And you don't think he'll come up to 
the point of telling you the fact unless you 
can stagger him with a new frock ! " Jim 
Fairfax smiled gravely. " A poor specimen 
if that is the case." 

" But, don't you understand, I wanted to 
look my best," said the girl, desperately. 
" And it isn't only that — a new frock gives 
you confidence in yourself — makes you more 
sure. You feel that other women aren't — 

aren't Oh ! I don't know,'' she finished 

wearily. " I can't explain. I've tried to — - 
but a man would never understand." 

Jim Fairfax pressed out his cigarette. 

'■ Tell me one thing," he said, gently. 
" Do you dress for men, or do you dress for 
women ? " 

She looked at him in faint surprise. 

" I don't know that I've ever really thought 
about it," she answered at length. '* I think 
I dress principally for my own pleasure — for 
the feeling it gives one if one is smart and 
attractive. A girl wants to be able to stand 
comparison with other girls." 

• ' Comparison by whom ? Men or women ? ' ' 

" Both, I suppose," she said, slowly. " And 
if the men don't notice, the women tell them 
sharp enough." 

" And you think that really affects the 
men ? " he asked, quietly. 

" I don't think — I know it does," she 
answered. " They may not think it does ; 
they may be quite sure it doesn't — but it 
does, all the same. ' Quite pretty, of course ; 
but what clothes ! My dear man, she's worn 
that green thing twenty times to my certain 
knowledge.' Oh ! I can hear them saying 

" I see," said Fairfax. " Well, we'll let 
that pass. About this man who is rather 
fond of you. Do you feel the same for him ? " 

" I quite like him," said the girl, slowly. 

" * You quite like him.' Sounds a trifle 
lukewarm, doesn't it ? Do you want to 
marry him ? " He was staring at her 
thoughtfully, and after a moment or two she 
faced him defiantly. 

"I've got to marry him — or somebody 
else," she said, " for my father's sake. And 
I like him as well as anybody. You — and 
people like you — don't know what life is — 
what the hopeless, unceasing struggle for 
mere existence means for people like us — 
since the war. You simply can't understand." 

" But there is one thing I can understand 
— there is one thing I do know," he answered, 
gravely. " And that is this. No marriage 
embarked on under those conditions is going 
to help the situation. It may — superficially 
— for a time ; but the last state will be 
wciue than the first. Perhaps through long 


An Unconventional Introduction 

years in the wilds I see things a little clearer 
than the dwellers in the cities ; but I know 
that youVe got hold of the wrong end of the 
stick — and its the rotten, dirty end." 

" A thief is pretty rotten," she whispered. 

Jim Fairfax laughed. *' I wasn't thinking 
of that little episode at all/ 1 he said. 
"Granted the rest p it isn't very difficult to 
see why that followed. It's the frame of 
mind that led up io it that I'm talking about." 

"You mean that you can for- 
give what I did ? " And now 
she was staring at him with a 
great wonder in her eyes. 

11 I feel certain that my sister 
will approve of your choice far 
more than she would have of 
mine/ 1 he answered, lightly. 
With a whimsical smile he bent 
forward, and suddenly the girl 
looked down on her plate, 
" Little girl/' he said, gravely, 
" it's not actions that count so 
much — it's motives, It*s the 
motive that made you do it 
that I hate. When the right 
man comes along , he won't care 
a hang what you're rigged out 
in— not a hang, Won't you 
wait for him — however hard, 
however impossible and hopeless 
it may seem ? " 

And then, because he saw her 
lips were trembling he turned 
away and beckoned to the wait- 
ress for his bill. It was not 
until they stepped out of the 
lift on the ground floor that he 
spoke again, 

" I J m not going to ask you your 
name — or where you're staying/' 
he said. " But if you would like to 
meet me again — and I'd awfully 
like you to Hke to, Miss Unknown 
-* — my name is Fairfax— Jim Fair- 
fax. And the Junior Sports Club 
will always find me. Good-bye " 

Without another word he was 
gone, and the girl watched his 
broad figure till it was lost in the crowd, 
For a while she stood there motionless, and 
the mob of bargain-hunters jostled cease- 
lessly past her; then, with a faint smile on 
her face, she turned back into the lift. 

" The writing- room/ 1 she said to the 
attendant as they shot upwards. 

Still with the same faint smile on her lips, 
she sat down at one of the tables and pulled 
a piece of paper towards her. For a moment 
she hesitated ; then she wrote :— 

" Thank you, Jim Fairfax, A very peni- 
tent thief thinks you're rather wonderful. I 
shall go in one of the rags, and I shall refuse 
him if he asks me." 

Then she sealed it up, addressed it, and 
slipped it into the box, 

*"T^HREE days later Jiirt Fairfax received 
| another letter in the same handwriting. 
He had spent the intervening time alter- 
nately cursing himself for not having found 
out the girl's name and prosecuting an aimless 
and utterly futile search for her amongst his 

' Tell me, old boy t do you know of any nice 

female acquaintances, His sister , marvel- 
ling slightly, had told him of two dances to 
her knowledge that had taken place on the 
night in question — and had somewhat 
brutally pointed out that in all probability 
there had been at least a dozen more of 
which she knew nothing. 

" You can't even tell me what she's like, 
Jim/ 1 she had said, plaintively, "And you 
won't tell me where you met her — or any- 
thing about her — so how on earth you can 
expect me to help you I don't know ; besides, 
the whole thinft i* absurd. " 

" Of course it i^, my dearsouj '* her brother 
had murjvjure"^l-^ ll 4thft«nlfca^ it amuses 

H. C. McNeile ("Sapper") 


me. Oh ! and by the way p here's my arrears 
of Christmas presents* At first I thought of 
a ring, and then I thought this might be more 
useful/ 1 

He had listened almost unconsciously to 
her thanks for the gold vanity- bag, and had 
departed to buy more tobacco at Barrow's. 
He already had enough to last him a year, 
but Barrow's had seemed the only link with 
the unknown one + 

everyone says — am a very stupid little fool- 
As a matter of fact — am I ? What do you 
think ? Anyway, it doesn't much matter, 
does it ? I'm going back to the country 
to-day. Good-bye, Jim. Thank you a 
thousand times, I hope your sister ( ! ) liked 
the ring." 

He read it over three times, and then he 
began to laugh. Finally he stopped laugh- 
ing and swore softly. After which he 

man, with pots of money, who was refused at a dance the night before last ? 

And now he was staring at another letter 
from her — longing to open it, and yet dread- 
ing that it would giv£ him as little informa- 
tion as the first had done. At last he slit 
open the envelope, after first carefully 
examining the postmark. Kensington was 
about as helpful as the dozen dances. 

" You will be pleased to hear, Jim Fairfax 
— ^.t least, I hope you will— that I refused 
him last night at the dance. As a result of 
doing so I have got it in the neck from every- 
body, especially my hostess. He — so every- 
one says — is very nioe. As a matter of fact 
he is. He — so everyone says— -has pots of 
money. As a matter of fact he has, I — so 

finished his breakfast and went round to his 
sister's house. She was nibbling a piece of 
toast in bed, and regarded him with dis- 

" My dear Jim/* she remarked, ■' I'm 
barely conscious. Not this girl again ? " 

" Tell me, Sylvia," he said, eagerly, " about 
all the men you know who were refused the 
night before last, At least, all the nice men 
with lots of money." 

She stared at him speechlessly. " You 
haven't a touch of the sun, have you, or any- 
thing ? Nice men with lots of money are not 
refused— £vcr. '" 

l1|4IV6R*IT¥iWMffiHK]*jW o{ money was 


An Unconventional Introduction 

refused at a dance the other night," affirmed 
her brother. 

" Good heavejxg ! What paper did you 
see it in ? " 

" Don't b$ cjfoical, Sylvia," said Jim 
Fairfax, with a grin. " The girl I am looking 
for refused a charming man with pots of 
money.. I know it. Therefore it merely 
resolves itself into finding the charming man. 
You know all the charming men in London — 
so it's just like shelling peas." 

" Jim, I think you'd better go back to 
Uganda. It's not safe for you to be at large. 
Give a shout for Bill. He might know." 

" I thought I heard a masculine voice," 
said her husband, appearing at the door. 
** 'Morning, Jim." 

" Bill," remarked his wife, calmly, " get a 
specialist. Jim's gone mad." 

" Desist, woman ! " laughed her brother. 
" Tell me, old boy, do you know of any nice 
man, with pots of money, who was refused 
at a dance the night before last ? " 

" Well, that's very funny," said his 
brother-in-law, coming into the room. " As 
a matter of fact, I do." 

" You do ! Why didn't you tell me ? " 
demanded his wife, sitting up in bed. 

" Young Peter Cardew," continued Bill, 
ignoring the interruption, " has been trailing 
after a girl for weeks. Saw him yesterday 
in the club gnawing a cutlet. Devilish 
despondent. Split a bottle with him and all 
that. Told me that life was finished as far 
as he was concerned, and that he was going 
to take to work — or drink. Forget which." 

" Did he tell you the name of the girl ? " 
cried Jim, breathlessly. 

" No, he didn't say, and I didn't ask him. 
It's about his twentieth. Why — what's all 
the excitement ? " 

" The same as before," said Sylvia, re- 
signedly. " Jim's unknown charmer. I wish 
you'd both go away : I want to get up." 

" Bill, I shall lunch with you to-day." 
Jim Fairfax hit his brother-in-law heavily in 
the chest. " You will also ask your friend 
Peter Cardew, and I shall interrogate him." 

" But, confound it, man," said Bill, weakly, 
"he's a complete stranger to you. You 
can't ask a man you've never seen about his 
love affairs. It's positively indecent." 

" Then you shall do it for me, old son," 
cried the other, cheerfully. " And I'll make 
notes of his answers. One o'clock sharp, at 
your club." 

The door closed behind him, and Bill 
turned dazedly to his wife. 

" My dear," he muttered, " it's prepos- 
terous. Peter is really very cut up about 

" Go carefully at your fences, old boy," 
she said, soothingly, " and you'll stay the 
coujsq. But unless something is done soon 

Jim will be arrested and put into a lunatic ~ 
asylum, and I shall have a nervous break- 

AT ten to one Bill made a last despairing 
jf^ effort. The waiter had just brought 
two cocktails, and with his brother-in- 
law he was standing in front of the smoking- 
room fireplace. 

" Supposing it's not the same girl, Jim ? " 
he began, nervously. " I mean, Peter's taste 
is not at all like yours." 

" Then you'll have to find somebody else 
who was refused," said Jim, calmly. " And 
we'll do it all over again." 

" Why the devil you didn't ask the girl 
at the time beats me," exploded Bill. " In 
fact, the whole thing is completely beyond 

" Same here," conceded his brother-in- 
law. " At the time of our — er— meeting, 
my mind was occupied with other things. 
It was only after I'd left her that I began to 
realize that there never could be another." 

" Oh, shut up ! " grunted Bill. " Here's 
Peter Cardew. 'Morning, Peter. My 
brother-in-law, Fairfax." 

Cardew nodded gloomily, and accepted the 
offer of a cocktail. 

" You look pessimistic," began Jim, cheer- 
fully, and the other scowled. 

" Peter's taken a toss," Bill plunged heroic- 
ally. " Haven't you; old man ? " 

*' Absolutely crashed at the last fence," 
said Cardew, gloomily. '* How does one get 
to Pulborough ? " 

" Pulborough ? " cried Jim, quickly. " By 
train, I suppose. But why Pulborough ? " 

" That's where the girl lives," announced 
Cardew, still more gloomily. " She went 
there yesterday." 

" Charming old place," said Jim. " I 
know it well. I'll have another cocktail, 
Bill," he continued, and his host meekly 

" Oh ! do you ? " Cardew regarded him 
with increased interest. " Know the local 
gossip ? " 

" Every word of it," answered Jim, and 
his brother-in-law swallowed twice. 

" Well, then," said Cardew, confidentially, 
" I wonder if you can tell me whether a most 
charming girl who lives there — a Miss 
Deering — is engaged, or anything like that. 
I mean, I know she's not actually engaged — 
but I wondered if any of the lads were buzzing 

" There are two families of Deerings," said 
Jim, thoughtfully. 

" Lives at The Gables," continued Cardew. 
" Sybil is her Christian name." 

Jim Fairfax bolted hir^ second cocktail and 

"'can'? gt^"nSr" liiE W 4!&ft !Sirowd f old 

H. C. McNeile ("Sapper") 


Good morning, Miss Deering/ With a little cry the giil dropped the watering-can 

and swung round/' 

boy/' he cried, cheerfully. " Absolutely like 
bees round the honey -pot. You haven't an 
earthly/* He smote the outraged suitor 
heavily on the back and turned to his brother- 
in-law. "Completely forgotten till this 
moment, Bill, that I sha'n't be able to lunch 
after all. Got to see a man on business/* 
14 About a dog, I suppose/' said Bill, 


I'll bet 


it prov 

es a 

" Take you on — even fiver/ 1 said Jim 
from the door + 

" Done ! " answered Bill, as the other dis- 
appeared, " Let's go and have some lunch, 

" I say, is that bird quite right in his 
head ? " demanded Cardew, still staring at 
the door. " What's he go and rush off like 
that for ? .1 -ivjinted to ask him a lot more 


An Unconventional Introduction 

" I wouldn't bother, old man," said Bill, 
diplomatically steering him towards the 
dining-room. " I don't expect his answers 
would have been very illuminating." 

"•"^OOD morning, Miss Deering." With 
^j a little cry the girl dropped the 
watering-can and swung round. Then, 
as she saw who it was who had spoken, every 
vestige of colour ebbed from her face, leaving 
it deathly white. 

" How did you find me ? " she stammered 
at length. 

■" With a great amount of trouble, and an 
even greater amount of luck," said Jim 
Fairfax, with a faint smile. " Why did you 
run away like that without telling me who 
you were ? " He was staring at her gravely 
as he spoke, and after a while the colour 
began to come back to her cheeks, though 
her lips were still trembling. 

M Because I was so ashamed," she faltered 
at length. " I never wanted you to know 
who I was." 

*' I don't think that was very kind," he 
remarked. " Besides, you never thanked 
me for your tea. Incidentally, I rode off a 
young gentleman of the name of Peter 
Cardew yesterday. He was on the point of 
starting for Pul borough to see you." 

11 It was through him, was it ? I didn't 
know you knew him." 

•' I didn't until yesterday at lunch," said 
Jim. 'I left him with the impression that 
anv attempt to see you here was doomed to 

'* What on earth do you mean ? " said the 
girl, with a puzzled frown. 

I was afraid he might get here first, you 
see — and that you might change your mind 
and accept him. And if he had I should have 
lost a fiver." 

" I don't believe you know what you're 
talking about," cried the girl. *' Will you 
please explain ? " 

" No — I never explain. Horrible things — 
explanations. They make things so ordinary. 
Now, if we don't bother about what's gone 
before, the present situation has great possi- 

" But we must bother about what's gone 
before," she answered, and her voice was 
very low. 

" I disagree entirely," said Jim, quietly. 
" In me you behold a stranger, standing on 
the wrong side of a hedge. Ordinary hospi- 
tality insists that you should at once invite 
me to change from that side to the other." 

For a moment she hesitated ; then, with 
her head thrown back a little, she picked her 
way over the intervening flower-bed and 
faced him steadily. 

Mr. Fairfax," she began, and her eyes 

met his bravely, "I'm in your power. If 
you had wished to, you could have given me 
in charge the other day, and disgraced — all 
of us here, as well as me. You didn't : you 
were very big. I suppose you could still do 
so if you wanted to. But from the way you 
talked to me that afternoon I'd formed a 
picture of you — which was rather a wonder- 
ful picture. When you went away and left 
me — and didn't ask my name or anything — 
I was just longing to tell you. But I couldn't 
speak ; there was such — such a lump in my 
throat. Don't spoil it all now, Jim Fairfax — 

" Spoil it ! " stammered the man. " What 
are you talking about, little girl ? " 

" You've found me — I don't quite know 
how," she went on, not noticing in her 
absorption the look of blank amazement that 
had spread over his face. " I suppose Peter 
Cardew talked, and you put two and two 
together. But please don't spoil it now — 
please, please don't." 

' You want me to go away ? " said Jim 
Fairfax, slowly. " You don't want to see 
me ? I understand. I was a bit of a fool to 
think you would." 

" Oh ! it's not that," cried the girl. " But 
after what happened " 

11 Which I have completely forgotten," 
interrupted Jim. 

" You can't forget/' she answered, bitterly. 
" I can't forget— ever. So won't you leave 
things as they are, leave me with that remem- 
brance of you at — at Barrow's — upstairs ? " 

Jim Fairfax drew a deep breath ; at last 
he was beginning to understand. 

" The ring," he announced, gravely, " was 
intended for my sister." 

" I don't see what that's got to do with 
it," she answered, flushing a little. 

" I think it's got everything to do with it," 
he remarked. " The point is, can I make 
you agree with me ? My dear," he went on, 
and his voice was very tender, " did you 
really think that I was such an unutterable 
blighter as to seek you out in order to hold 
that mistake of yours over your head ? " 
She was silent, and after a moment or two he 
insisted, gently : " You didn't think that, 
did you— Sybil ? " 

" I don't quite know what I thought," she 

" I've got that ring in my pocket," he said, 
taking one of her hands in his. " And we 
are in a supremely ridiculous position here. 
What about that little summer-house affair 
over there ? " 

" You're mad, Jim Fairfax," she said, 
staring at him with wonder in her eyes. 

" Absolutely," he agreed, calmly. " So 
let's go over to it and sit down on the side 
remote from the house — and see if the bally 

thing fit3." ERSITY OF MICHIGAN 




a class are te- 
dious, foolish, 
and short- 
sighted. Their tedious - 
ness exasperates, their 
folly infuriates, their short- 
sightedness begets despair. 
The virtues acquired in the 
days of courtship they discard 
along with other bachelor attributes less 
admirable but equally attractive. They 
forget the existence of florists — make a 
fetish of sobriety and import dull details 
of business or career into their domestic 
lives. They settle down visibly — and settle 
up reluctantly — they lose the knack of 
saying pleasant things and acquire the 
habit of framing grave observations. In 
short, they blunt the essential points of 
married life and whet the unessential. 

Wives are greatly to be pitied. 

Woman, being by necessity the practical 
sex, naturally turns for her delight to all 
that is abstract in life. That is her reason 
for marrying, for a lover is always abstract 
until he becomes a husband* Fortunately 
for the race she is not aware of this conse- 
quence until it is too late. She does not 
know that marriage will act upon the average 
lover as water acts on Portland cement, and 
will bind him into a kind of concrete- — an 
immovable mass of solid virtues. 

Wherefore woman is to be pitied. 

Of lovers little need be said. They are 
neither to be pitied, admired, nor greatly 
reprehended . Such exq uisi te t ort u re is theirs 
that we should do ill to add to it. 

From all of which preamble the reader 
may well suppose he is to be introduced to a 
domestic triangle. He is right, but let him 
have no fear + It is a triangle with rounded 
comers — almost a circle, and not a vicious 
circle at that. And now, without a friend in 
the world, we will embark upon the history 
of Violet and Ben Dalrymple and of their 
mutual acquaintance, Donald John Esmond, 
who was a very pleasant young fellow indeed. 

Benjamin Dalrymple was a harrister-at- 
law and a busy man. He was tremendously 
earnest about his job. and successful, too. 
He used to study his briefs in bed at night — 




which is not a very 
companionable proceed- 

When Violet spoke 
to him he usually said 
" Wha-at ! " as though 
his mind had to be brought 
from some considerable dis- 
tance before being in position 
to reply* 

And sometimes he would tell her the 
circumstances and how he proposed to deal 
with them. Which was very kind and 
thoughtful of him, though not always a 
source of delight to Violet, 

It would be grossly unjust to suggest that 
Violet was not interested in his professional 
avocation. She was intensely interested — 
she liked to hear about it, but not un- 
naturally she liked to hear about other things 
as well. Her tastes were conservative, and 
it is even possible she might have enjoyed 
an occasional talk about herself, It is an 
exercise which has been found agreeable to 
many. In a word, she yearned for some- 
thing charming and— so far as her husband 
was concerned— she yearned in vain. And 
so, of course, she was depressed* 

And that was where the trouble came in. 
It is a very tragic circumstance to have an 
appreciation for charm and to be given no 
charm to appreciate. Dear old Ben was an 
excellent fellow and a kind husband, but 
domestically he was stupid. What little 
charm he once possessed had long ago dissi- 
pated, to be replaced by reasonableness — a 
shade of petulance — an inclination toward 
self-absorption— a disinclination to take any 
trouble — and, although he never expressed it, 
a very strong distaste for anyone save 
himself sharing his wife's society or rendering 
her service. It is to his discredit, perhaps, 
but lots of men are like that ; otherwise the 
story of the dog in the manger would lose its 

And that was where Donald John Esmond 
came in. 

To Donald nothing was too much trouble 
and no service too small to neglect. It was 
a source of real delight to him to get a taxi 
in the rain. He wuuld travel for miles bv 

183 fllW^^rtraiai"^ the firet 


Summer Time 

bunch of early primroses. At his disposal 
were a thousand ingenious devices for in- 
conveniencing himself to add to her well- 
being. His self-abnegation was beyond 
belief — his intuition faultless — his sympathy 
unbounded. And he was always sincere. 
There is no doubt about that. He delighted 
in delighting. He neither asked for nor 
expected a reward. 

ON an evening in mid-September Violet 
was standing by the open drawing- 
room window watching the yellowy 
pink twilight change the familiar scene into 
the likeness of a Japanese print. 

" Do come and look," she said. 

Benjamin was seated in a deep armchair, 
some papers on his lap, his eyes fixed on the 
picture rail, his lips moving, his brows 

" Wha-at ! " he replied. 

" It's such a wonderful evening." 

He turned his head and looked at her. 
Almost with surprise he realized how pretty 
she looked — her profile was softened by half 
light, and shadowy against the opal sky. 

" Is it ? " he said, and crossed to her side. 

For a while they stood looking out in 

" H'm ! Quite beautiful— quite." 

It was unusual for him to be as sentimental 
as that. Violet slipped an arm through his. 

" It's almost the last of the long evenings," 
she said. " Ten days more of Summer Time, 
that's all." 

" Eh ? Oh, Willett ! Yes, the Daylight 
Saving Bill, you mean ? " 

She nodded. 

"I think it's awfully sad putting the clock 
back — adding another hour to darkness. I 
hate the day one has to do that. Always 
makes me feel creepy and old." 

" Old ? What nonsense." 

" But it does. Like letting in the winter, 
it is." She shivered. " Ben, when one 
puts the clock back, what becomes of that 
hour ? " 

" Nothing, of course." 

" It must go somewhere, because we've 
had it and then we pretend we haven't and 
prove we haven't." 

He smiled. 

" A little elementary arithmetic for you," 
he said. 

" No, I think it's horrid to steal an hour 
from the day," she went on. " It's the most 
miserable evening in all the year." 

And quite unexpectedly Ben produced an 

" Then we must do something to cheer 
you up." 

" Do what ? " 

" A little dinner — a theatre — whateve; 



ver yo 


She looked at him in genuine wonder. 

" It's ages since you suggested taking me 

" Been so busy lately. 'Sides," he frowned 
a little, " you've been going out a lot. 
Where'd you like to go ? " 

" Us together ? " 

" 'Course." 

She puckered her forehead, and then a 
light of sudden excitement danced in her 

" I know. ' Pagliacci.' It's the only 
night they're doing it this season. I'd most 
awfully enjoy to go there. Caruso is singing. 
I think I'd almost forget about the clocks 
being put back if I went to ' Pagliacci.' 
We'll have a special dinner here first." 

" Monday week, isn't it ? " 

" Urn ! " 

" I'll get the tickets next time I'm up." 

" That'll be lovely." A pause. " Ben ! " 

" Yes." 

" Why are you so nice to-day ? " 

" Wha-at ! " He had drifted back to his 
chair and picked up the papers. 

" I wish you'd often It's so 

seldom " 

" Must get on with this," he interrupted. 
" It's rather important. Sorry, but — er — 
ye-es — ye-es." 

And Violet knew well enough that those 
twin " yeses " meant the iron curtain of 
professional affairs had been lowered between 
them. But since, for a little while, they had 
talked together as they might have talked in 
the brave old days she bore no resentment. 
Indeed, it was a very contented Violet that 
slipped quietly from the room to answer a 
telephone bell ringing in a distant part of the 

Donald John was at the other end of the 

" You sound in ripping good spirits," he 

" I am," she replied. 

" Splendid," said Donald John. " I say, 
you remember those little honey cakes they 
gave us at the Berkeley ? The ones you 

" Urn ! " 

" I persuaded the chef to give me the 
recipe. I've posted it on to you." 

" You actually tackled the chef ? " 

" Well, of course." 

" I really think you're the bravest person 
that ever lived." 

" Oh, rot," said Donald. " But I didn't 
ring up on that account." 

" Well ? " 

" Wanted to know if you'd care to do 
anything on Monday week. Last day of 
Summer Time, you know. I seem to 
remember you weMtobi bit down last 


Roland Pertwee 

1Q 7 

" I was, but how did you remember ? ts 

' 4 I don't know. Thought if you'd care 
to— to " 

'It's awfully sweet of you, but Ben has 
promised to take me to * Pagliacci, J " 

" Has he ? Oh, good, I'm glad. I was 
going to suggest our going there* if you'd 
fixed nothing." 

M Yes, he just asked me. Thanks so 
much for thinking of it." 

He turned his head and looked at her. Almost with surprise he realized how 

pretty she looked/* 

" Not a bit. Riding in the Row to- a little smile of pleasure. It really had been 

morrow ? * J rather nice telling Donald about Ben's 

94 Expect so.* 1 invitation. 

" May see you there- Good-bye ." " Good old Ben," said Donald to himself p 

■' G'bye," as he hung up £h& receiver. " That's fine 1 " 

Violet turned away from the 'phone with He (^I^Efigarette, dropjw] fin an armchair, 


Summer Time 

and spread out his legs, the pattern of 
contentment. A moment later a flicker of 
doubt shaded his expression. 

" Lord ! I hope he doesn't forget." 

This was an unsettling thought. 

" Better be on the safe side." 

He stretched out a hand for the telephone 
and gave a number. 

" That Covent Garden ? Any stalls for 
' Pagliacci ' on Monday week ? Or a box ? 
Yes, thanks very much — that'll do nicely. 
I'll send my cheque." 

There was nothing surprising in the fact 
that Ben made no further reference to the 
proposed visit to the opera. Violet did not 
expect him to do so. He disliked repetitions 
and could not endure making plans. Besides, 
during the days that followed, he was 
exceptionally busy and not very communica- 
tive. Violet herself never broached the 
subject, being far too pleased he had suggested 
it to irritate him with discussion. 

NEVER seen you look so fit and jolly," 
said Donald, after a half-mile canter 
in the Park on the morning of the 
appointed day. 

" I feel both," she laughed, and added, 
" There is an advantage in getting a little 
older — one has the most delicious thrills of 
youthfulness. When one is actually a girl 
one has no feeling one way or the other." 

" Why do you talk about getting older ? " 

" I'm thirty-three." 

" Well, hang it, I'm thirty-five." 

" Then you ought to have married ages 

He shook his head. 

11 Forgive me if I disagree on that point." 

She laughed. 

*' You'd make a ripping husband." 

11 Thank you." There was a touch of 
seriousness in his voice. 

" Is it late ? " Violet asked, " because I have 
an appointment at twelve with Lucile about 
my frock I'm going to wear." 

" New frock ? " 

4 ' Urn ! It's nice." She described it— he 
understood women's clothes. Most essen- 
tially masculine men do. 

" I don't know why, but I'm making a 
real occasion of to-night." 

" Splendid. Where are you going to 
dine ? " 

" At home. The opera starts so early and 
I hate an empty restaurant. I've ordered a 
special menu." 

" It's nearly twelve now," said Donald. 
" If you like to dismount here and hop into 
a taxi I'll lead your gee back to the stable." 

" It wouldn't be a nuisance ? " 

" Heavens, no." 

" Kind cavalier," she said. 

They parted a minute or two later. 

" Au re voir." 

" Pleasant time," said he. 

Violet spent a long time dressing that 
evening, and the result rewarded the labour. 

Dinner had been ordered for seven-fifteen, 
but at five minutes past Ben had not returned. 

" I hope he won't be late," said Violet to 

Almost as she spoke she heard his latch- 
key in the door, and she went out to the 
landing to meet him. He was ascending 
the stairs slowly, and his expression was 

" Well, dear," he remarked. It was his 
usual greeting. 

" You'll have to hurry," said Violet. 
" Dinner will be up in ten minutes." 

" Why ? Is it earlier to-night ? " 

" Yes, quarter past. I told you." 

He took out his watch and examined it. 

" Oh, yes, yes. I remember. So you 
did. H'm ! Well, I won't bother to change, 

" Ben ! " 

" I'm a bit tired— full day." 

Violet poured him out a small whisky- 
and-soda, his invariable tonic on arriving 
home. It gave her an opportunity to hide 
her expression. Surely, surely he hadn't 
forgotten ! Of course not — he would have 
dinner and dress quickly afterwards. He 
absorbed his drink in yawning silence. 

" That Selincourt case I told you about." 

" Oh, yes, I know." Then, as though it 
were a sudden inspiration : " Do you <Jike 
my new frock ? " 

He was about to reply when dinner was 
announced — on which account his views were 
lost to the world. 

Certainly he talked at dinner — talked quite 
a lot — but never once did he mention the 

" Very wonderful dishes to-night," he said. 

Violet nodded. She was not taking a very 
active part in the conversation. Rather 
turbulent simmerings of resentment kept 
speech behind closed lips. Ben scarcely 
noted her silence — the champagne had 
loosened his tongue and he was chatting 
away quite gaily on professional matters. 
An anecdote about a witness and rather a 
sharp exchange he had had with the judge. 
They were quite good stories. 

Toward the end of the latter Violet 

" Hadn't you better dress now ? " she said. 

He wrinkled his forehead. 

" What on earth for ? I sha'n't change 
to-night. Matter of fact, I've some work 
that'll keep me busy for an hour or so." 

Violet rose to her feet, biting her lip. 

44 Might tell them to serve coffee in the 

Wome:n are: beautifully trained. 

Roland Pertwee 


" Very well," she replied, and turned away. 
As ^he laid her hand on the door handle the 
telephone bell sounded. She crossed the 
hall f entered her own little room and picked 
up the receiver. Tears were not very 

" Yes/' she said, in rather a mechanical 

" Is that vou, Violet ? " 

44 Donald ? " 

41 Yes. Just rang up to say I shall be at 
the opera, too, to-night. Perhaps I shall 
see you there." 

44 No — you won't. I 'm not going after all." 

44 Not going ? " 

44 Ben's too busy." 

" I say, that's bad luck. Look here, it's 
awful cheek, but wouldn't you come to my 
box. I'll collect you in the car." 

•'Thanks, Donald, but I don't think I 
should like to meet a lot of people to-night." 

" There won't be any people — I've asked 
no one. Do come, I say. Last day of 
Summer Time, and all that." 

It was quite a short silence that followed — 
a very minor hesitation, then : — 

" Very well, I'll come. It's sweet of you, 

44 I'm jolly lucky not to have to sit it out 
alone," he replied. "I'll be along inside 
twenty minutes." And after he had replaced 
the receiver : ' I thought so. What a rotter 
the fellow is." 

AS she mounted the stairs Violet said to 
/\ herself :— 

44 I'm glad there's one person in the 
world who doesn't forget." 

She put on her cloak and descended to the 
hall. Outside the study door she paused for 
a n\oment before entering. 

Ben was sitting at his table, writing. 
4 Good-night," said she. 

" Wha-at ? " He raised his eyes and 
looked at her. " You're going out ? I 
didn't know." 

44 Didn't you ? " 

" Where are you going ? " 

44 The opera. It's ' Pagliacci.' " 

44 Is it ? " His brows came down a trifle. 
" Yes, I remember, you asked me to take 

44 I thought you asked me." 

" Yes, I did. I " 

" Are the tickets in your pocket ? " 

"No." * 

" You forgot." 

"I've been so busy. You should have 
reminded me." 

She gave no answer to that. 

" I have been busy." 

" One can be busy and still remember a 

He pushed back his papers, and stood. 

44 Who are you going with ? " 

44 Oh, someone who happened to know * 
you'd invited me and who seemed to guess 
you wouldn't remember." 

(Which, of course, was perfectly true, if 
not a very kind thing to have said.) 

A frown settled between Ben's eyes and 
his mouth hardened. 

'* That young cub, Esmond, I suppose." 

She became instantly defensive. 

44 You can hardly call him a cub for 
remembering the things you forget." 

" It isn't his job to remember them." 

" Oh, dear ! " 

44 I object to your going to the opera with 
that boy." 

(It is characteristic of husbands that they 
choose the wrong moment to take the high 

Violet laughed. - 

" How very silly." 

44 You go about together too much." 

" Not at all. He doesn't bore me." 

(It is characteristic of wives that they 
never allow husbands to score a point.) 

Ben adopted a new line of attack. 

44 Is there anything so very enlivening in 
his society that is lacking in mine ? " 

44 I should be sorry to miss the Prologue," 
said Violet. 

" Because if that's the case I should be 
glad to know." 

Violet looked at him squarely. 

" There's a difference — yes." 

4 Well, goon." 

44 There's a difference in charm." 

" Charm ? " 

44 Yes. He never forgets — he remembers 
— and more than that, he invents. He 
invents all those friendly little things that 
marriage finds no time for." 

" I don't follow what you mean." 

44 It shouldn't be difficult. I suppose 
marriage is only what we make it — but it's 
very level, Ben. All along there." She 
drew a straight line with her forefinger. 
44 No mountains — no blue hills — nothing but 
plains — flat grey plains." 

44 I am sorry you find it so." 

It was such a disappointing answer that 
her reply flared angrily. 

44 And so am I. There's a devil in human 
nature that has to be satisfied." 

" What do you mean ? " 

44 Nothing alarming. It isn't a bad devil 
— rather a childlike one, perhaps, that 
makes you leave the dusty road sometimes 
to stop and pick a flower or two by the 

44 Need one go to the opera with a man 
who isn't one's husband in order to pick 
flowers by the way ? " 

retoM^rtibmtim empty/ ' she 


Summer Time 

He walked across to the fireplace 
and started to fill a pipe. 

M Look here, Violet, it's absurd to 
have a row about tliis — but — but it 
won't do. I can't have you taking 
risks/' He caught the challenge in 
her eyes at the word ' f risks." 
"I'm not going to allow you 
to accept from another man 
what you imagine I ought to 
give you/' 

' ' 1 don't imagine 
you ought to give 
me anything." 

" But it's evi- 
dent you do/' 

t+ No. The re- 
verse. 1 want you 
to give me what 
I've never asked 
for — never ex- 

" You can't ac- 
cuse me of treat- 
ing you unfairly/ 1 

"I don't. Miich 
too fairly, I have 
m y allowan ce — 
my meals — I h m 
privileged to sit 
at your table, 
govern your ser- 
vants, entertain 
your guests— and 
I have carte 
blanche to run 
your house. I 
have all that — I 
admit it willingly, 
and I haven't a 
ha'p'orth of grati- 
tude for the lot. 
But if you were 
to come back 
from the Courts 
one day with a 
bag of sweets 
and say, ' Here, 
I bought you 
these ! p or bring 
me a bunch of 
early primroses in 
the spring — or re- 
member some of 
the silly little 

things you used to say to me when we were 
engaged -" 

fl Well ? " 

" But you don't — it's a nuisance, I sup- 
pose. Too trivial. Why, even a week-old 
promise is too far away to remember/' 

** Not at all. I suggested we should go 
somewhere together/' 

" And that's as far as we'll get. And 

1 forbid you to go. I'm beginning to 
( You wouldn't wish me to be here 

that's why I'm going out with Donald. It 
isn't a nuisance to him — it's a pleasure. He 
likes to perform those sweet, agreeable, 
chivalrous little acts which mean quite a lot 
to a woman/' 

" But we're not children any longer/' 
" No. It seems rather a good reason to 
me for keeping a httle bit of nursery in one's 
heart. You won't understand that, Ben — 

Roland Pertwee 


lose my temper, Violet 
while you did that?*" 

understand how old a woman feels who isn't 
allowed to keep that bit of nursery/' 

He lit his pipe deliberately — the argument 
was passing out of his depth, yet t somehow, 
he felt a shrewd impression he could swim 
in that water— if he dared. That was the 
trouble — he didn't dare. Orderly going had 
been his so long it was impossible to acjmit 
the growth of wings. A policeman might as 

Vol Uii.^a 

well declare himself a fairy. 
Ben Dalrymple stuck to his 
guns and fired a round of pure 

"If you imagine I am going 
to stand by while you com- 
plain of my neglect to another 
man " 

" It will be soon enough to 
reproach me when I do so/* 
she returned. + " Good night." 

H ' Stop! " 

14 Please/' 

" I forbid you to go." 

" Perhaps you wouldn't mind 
opening the door for me/' 

" Violet 1 " There was a dan- 
gerous light in his eyes, 

+ ' Don't let's be foolish about 
this," she said. 

From the street below came 
the musical note of the Gabriel I e 
horn on Donald's car. It was 
the signal of his arrival. 

" I forbid you to go. I'm 
beginning to lose my temper, 

1 You wouldn't wish me to be 
here while you did that ? " 

k ' Good God," he cried, ,H you 
are deliberately trying to annoy 
me — to run counter to my 
wishes. I'm hanged if I'll 
allow you to go about with 
another man. It's gone too far 
as it is and it's got to stop." 

" How dare you > " 

,r You imagine I have no 
affection for you — well, you're 
wrong. I — 1 love you — tre- 
mendously — you're my wife 
and — oh, one gets into grooves, 
I know. I'd like to be even- 
thing you want me to be. I'll 
do my best — but I'm hanged 
if I'll be complaisant. Either 
this fellow is sent to the right- 
about or " 

" Or what ? " 

M Or you return to an empty 

He certainly looked very sin- 
cere as he issued this ukase, 

,+ Really ! " said Violet, 

" I mean it." 
'* Oh p very well/* she replied, a bright 
pink spot burning on either cheek, '* if you 
consider my going to the opera with a friend 
is sufficient reason for deserting me, I have 
no argument against it. Good night/' 
" Violet ! " 

The room door snapped crisply behind her. 
A moment idler he heard her voice in the 
stre^.J^^IT^pglbl^r^,-^ being so late. 


Summer Time 

and Donald's cheerful assurance that there 
was " bags of time." Then the sound of the 
car moving away. 

Benjamin sat down lumpily at the writing- 
table — his eyes staring, his hands thrust out 
before him. He stayed so for a minute 
without movement, then with an outward 
sweep of the arms he sent books, papers, 
ash-trays, all the litter a man surrounds 
himself with, fluttering and crashing to the 

The door opened and Roberts, the man- 
servant, came in with coffee. 

" Take it away," said Ben. " Don't want 

" Very good, sir." 

Roberts put the tray down and stooped to 
collect the fallen papers. 

" Let 'em be — let 'em be, man. I'd tell 
you if I wanted " 

He sprang to his feet and passed hurriedly 
out of the room. 

The drawing-room door was open and he 
entered without tunting on the lights. 
Through the window-glass he had a glimpse 
of the new moon, serene above the tree-tops. 
Like many other practical men he was 
superstitious over trifles. The sight salted 
his indignation with alarm. He threw 
himself down on the sofa with clenched 
hands, and lay there for nearly an hour while, 
within him, anger and remorse played a fine 

PRESENTLY Roberts came in and 
switched on the lights. 
" Yes, what is it ? " 

" Beg pardon, I didn't see you, sir." 

" What do you want ? " 

" I was going to draw the curtains." 

" All right— all right." 

The heavy silk curtains slid over the 
window recess and blotted out the night. 
Having accomplished this to his satisfaction, 
Roberts crossed to the mantelpiece and 
opened the face of the clock. 

" What are you up to now ? " 

" I was going to put the clock back an 
hour, sir. It's the last day of Summer Time." 

" Is it ? Well, never mind, I'll look after 

" Very good, sir. Anything you wanted, 
sir ? " 

" No — yes. Pack me a bag. I sha'n't be 
sleeping at home to-night." 

M What clothes " 

" Oh, anything — anything. Let me know 
when you've done." 

Roberts went out. 

There was a portrait of Violet hanging 
above the piano, and Ben's eyes travelled 
frowningly toward it. So pretty she looked, 
and youthful, with just a shade of sadness at 
the corners of a mouth made for laughter. 

He hadn't noticed that expression before. 
Lots of things he hadn't noticed really. 
He turned away and covered his eyes with a 
wandering hand. Why was that shade of 
sadness there ? Was it disappointment ? 
What had caused it ? Lack of sunshine, 
perhaps — sunshine he might have provided. 
Yet by the common standard of mankind 
he was a good husband. This charm that 
she yearned for — what manner of thing was 
that ? Where was its place in everyday 
existence ? With startling suddenness he 
saw that in the realities of married life the 
will and power to charm is sacrificed to idle- 
ness. He could remember now the prickings 
of a thousand impulses to please her or 
delight, impulses sterilized by laziness and 
yawned out of fruition. 

" By God," he exclaimed, 'she's right! 
I've cheated her all along the line." 

Naturally enough she turned to another 
man for these cherished gifts of thoughtful- 
ness and consideration that he, in his com- 
fortable blindness, had denied her. It came 
to him vividly how much he had denied 
himself in checking the mood to please. 
The warmth of her smile, the exquisite flash 
of gratitude in her eyes, the impulsive 
pressure of her hand, the hundred and one 
indescribably subtle expressions of intimacy, 
each in itself a pearl beyond price in the 
necklace of days and years-*— gone, all of them 
— dusty from disuse — mildewed and faded 
from neglect. 

Charm and the will to please are potential 
factors in the make-up of happiness. 

There is a stubborn belief in the minds of 
most men that nothing is lost irredeemably. 
The best is often forgotten or mislaid, but 
with a little trouble it can be recovered. 
Then and there Benjamin Dalrymple regis- 
tered a tremendous vow that he would 
endeavour to win his way back to his wife's 
esteem. He knew enough of life to realize 
that the task would be none too easy — that 
success would not depend upon following in 
detail the charges she had brought against 
him and dealing with them antithetically. 
Her smile would not be his at the price of 
following instructions, but at the inspiration 
of new ideas — unexpected tenderness. He 
did not believe she had more than a liking 
for this fellow Esmond (damn him !). Perhaps 
when she saw the effort he, Ben, was making 
to requite his neglect, she would tell the 
confounded fellow to clear off. (From which 
thought, and its accompanying malediction, 
it will be seen that Benjamin Dalrymple was 
entirely human. Jealousy is a very live 
force and does not go out of business at a 
moment's notice.) 

He would like to have known what was 
passing through Violet's mind as she sat at 
the ojHKra4v'EJ?i9H"Y*9f MI"CHfcJ s t a - nt did he 

Roland Pertwee 


imagine she would doubt the sincerity of 
his threat to leave. It was a cruel thing to 
have said — a hurtful thing. Poor girl ! The 
thought of the empty house would be 
preying upon her. He hated himself for 
having threatened it. And yet — when she 
returned perhaps and found he was still 

It would be difficult to define at what 
point in his reflection Ben abandoned the 
project of leaving home. The reversal of his 
plans was automatic. When Roberts came 
in to ask if he wanted a taxi the answer 
was : — 

" I don't. You can unpack that bag and 
go to bed." 

After that he sat for nearly two hours 
maturing plans for the future and listening 
for the sound of Violet's arrival. 

It was nearly twelve when he heard a car 
stop before the house and Violet's voice 
saying "Good night." 

" I'll see you safely inside," said Donald. 

The click and turn of the key. 

-i Good night/' 

" Good night." A pause, then : " Donald, 
don't run away directly — come in for a 
minute or so, will you ? " 

" You're not tired ? " 

" No, I want you to come in, please." 

The front door closed quietly. 

Ben put a fidgeting hand over his mouth. 
There had been something queer in her voice 
that frightened him. She had thought he 
would not be there, and yet had asked this 
fellow to come in. The drawing-room door 
was half open and he heard their voices again 
in the hall. 

" Just wait here a minute, please. I want 
to make sure of something." 

Then he heard her light step ascending the 

" God," exclaimed Ben — a rush of blood 
set his face burning. Without an instant's 
thought he switched off the light and re- 
treated into the curtained window recess. 

Violet glanced into the room, opened an 
adjoining door, closed it again and mounted 
to the bedroom floor. A moment passed and 
she returned slowly to the landing, and, 
leaning over the well of the staircase, called 
Donald to come up. Then she entered the 
drawing-room, switched on the light and 
passed over to the mantelpiece. 

DONALD came in. 
" I say ! " he exclaimed, " is any- 
thing the matter ? You look awfully 

" No, it's all right," she answered, faintly. 
There was a silver tray of drinks standing 
on a little table. Donald mixed a brandy- 
and-soda and put it in her hand. 
M No, really " she began. 

" I should. The air was a bit heavy at the 
opera to-night." 

She took a sip from the glass and put it 

" Thank you — thanks." 

" Do sit down, I'm sure you're not well." 

She obeyed, and he put a cushion at the 
back of her head. 

,% Is there anything I can do ? A doctor 
or " 

" No, nothing. Just stay a bit — that's 

She closed her eyes. He drew up a chair 
and sat looking at her anxiously. 

" You're awfully kind, aren't you — a dear 
person — don't know what I should do without 
yofl — now." 

" What is it ? " he asked. 

" Ben," she replied. " He's gone." 

" Gone ! " 

" Yes, he left me to-night." 

" Oh, my dear girl ! " he exclaimed, where 
another man would have said *' The black- 
guard ! " 

" It's my fault, I suppose — partly." 

" I won't accept that." 

" Yes. He warned me — threatened to go 
if " 

" Well ? " 

" Oh, it's so foolish." 

He hesitated, then — 

•' Was it anything to do with you coming 
to the opera with me ? " 

" In a way." 

11 But he couldn't take you. He wouldn't 
be so selfish as to— no, I oughtn't to have 
said that." 

" Yes, he was. Oh, I don't know. I 
wonder if I was wrong. I — I didn't believe 
him— I thought " 

11 But, good God, he must know that I 
wouldn't harm a hair of your head — that my 
greatest wish in the world is to — to serve 
you — help you in every possible way." 

41 I know, my dear, I know. You've been 
splendid and sweet to me. But men don't 
understand that — they think — oh I And 
now he's gone — gone ! " 

" Take some more of that brandy." 

" It's all right. A shock, that's all — so — 
so unbelieving. Be a help, Don, I feel 
rather lost." 

" Tell me everything that happened," he 

And, haltingly at first, she told him. 

" It was beastly of me to talk like that, 
but I felt so cheated." There was a catch 
in her voice. " It isn't that I wasn't fond 
of him, but — oh, I don't know. You spoiled 
me, perhaps." 

" What have I to do with it ? " 

" Made me rebel against the routine — the 
cold facts. All the little thoughtful atten- 
tions— your disinterested ness — so kind — and 


Summer Time 

understanding — it was so different — so 
charming. You never once thought about 

" I can't see how a decent man could 
think of himself when you were near.'.' 

" Once he used to talk to me like that— 
ages ago." 

" He didn't appreciate you, Violet." 

" I don't know," she said again. 

Donald John Esmond rose to his feet with 
clenched hands. 

" Lord ! " he exploded. " I think I could 
kill the man who made you unhappy." 

" Please don't talk that way." 

" But to put himself first," he cried. 

" Perhaps that's what I've done." 

" You've the right — you're a woman." ~ 

" No, I wanted too much — gave too little. 
Now I suppose I shall have to pay." 

" Not if I can prevent it." He sat by her 
side. " Look here, Violet. Let me carry 
the load — I'm a man, it's my job. Why 
should you blame yourself ? You have no 
fault. He didn't love you — couldn't have 
loved you — never understood what love 
means. He was all for himself and never a 
thought for you." 

" Oh, Donald, you haven't understood 
life — you're all ideals." 

" I thank God for it. I tell you the man 
is set and settled. He couldn't do a decent 
thing, hasn't a charming thought. It's ' I ' 
with him all the time, 'I.' If he'd been 
worth worrying over would he have left 
you to-night — without provocation — on a 
rotten, baseless suspicion ? He was glad to 
go, I expect — wanted an opportunity, and 
took the first." 

" I oughtn't to let you go on." 

" You're too kind, Violet — too sweet. 
It's you who don't understand life — angels 
can't. They are facts I'm telling you. The 
only love worth having is selfless love — that's 
the only love worth mourning for. The love 
that asks nothing in return." 

" Don't say any more," she pleaded. " I 
felt so wretched — so lonely — so old. It's dear 
of you to try and make me happy, but " 

" I'll succeed," he gasped, and his arms 
went round her. For a frightened instant 
her face looked into his. He dropped his 
head and kissed her, kissed her, kissed her. 
And between the kisses he poured forth a 
stream of protestation. " I want you — I'm 
burning for you — I want you more than 
anything in the world." 

(All of which points the moral that a selfless 
love is apt to borrow largely from the 
ordinary variety, although its advertising 
campaign differs in essential features.) 

It was useless to resist the first torrent of 
his emotion, but when his voice died away, 
for her answer she stretched out both hands 
and thrust him away from her as something 

detestable. Then she rose and walked to the 
hearth, smearing her fingers across her lips 
from side to side. What passed within her 
she could find no words to express, but her 
eyes were eloquent enough, and they did not 
hold the look that a Prince Charming may 
yearn to see. 

A kiss may achieve marvels, but equally it 
may destroy marvels, and he is a wise man 
who shall predict which way the dice will 
turn. In that predatory affront — that 
instant of primal acquisitiveness — the steady 
light of Donald John Esmond's selfless love 
went rocketing skyward in a tongue of 
greedy and destructive flame. 

After that the darkness was very intense. 

" That you should think I meant that," 
she said. " That because he distrusted me 
I should give him cause." 

He, too, had risen, and was standing before 
her with his chin down. A very fallen idol 
with feet of common clay. 

" My dear ," he stammered. 

" Please." 

He gave a little gesture and turned toward 

"I'm sorry. Good night.". 

There was something tremendously 
pathetic in his retreating back. It stirred 
an instant pity in her. 

" Donald— Donald ! " she said. 

He turned. 

" Yes ? " 

" It — was it my fault — did I let you 
believe ? " 

"No," he answered. " I tried to take, 
that's all. I'm a cad. Please don't bother 
with me." 

" Oh, Donald, I wish it hadn't happened. 
Such a good friend you've been, and I wanted 
a friend so — so dreadfully." 

" Don't bother with me," he said again. 
" You're not likely to forget it in a hurry or 
trust me again. I'd have you believe, 
though, that there isn't anything in the 
world I wouldn't do to wipe it out." 

" Yes," she answered, " it's a pity. I 
suppose one would always remember." 

They were silent, and the clock on the 
mantelpiece took up the tale and chimed the 
quarter after twelve. Violet's eyes travelled 
slowly toward it and an idea came into her 

" Donald. It's the night when the clocks 
are put back. Let's put back the clock and 
forget that this hour ever existed. It 
wouldn't have existed if we did that." 

" What's the use ? " he said. 

" It's so dreadful to lose good things — to 
have them spoilt. I know — at least perhaps 
I know. Shall we?" 

11 You would forget then ? " 

" The hour hasn't existed. You never 
came in to-night. ' vS\^ left me at the 


Roland Pertwee 


door. I never told you my 
trouble — I never let you 
think — oh j it seems so good 
to me/ 1 

" You are a wonder/' he 
said, as he watched her finger 
reverse the clock hand by a 
full compass. 

" Good night, Donald/' 

" Good night/' 

BEN DALRYMPLE waited till he heard 
the car moving away from the door 
before he stepped from behind the 
curtain. Violet was leaning against the 
mantelpiece, one hand pressed to her heart, 
and she was very white. She gave a half- 
checked cry as she saw him. Then her 
muscles tightened and her eyes narrowed 

" Between the kisses he 
poured forth a stream 
of protestation* *1 want 
you — 1 want you more 
than anything in the 
world/ ' 

11 So you were listening?" 
she said, and nodded. 
He made no answer. 
"1 hope you are pleased 
with what you heard/' 

" I heard nothing/' he re- 
plied, very quietly. 

She stared at him perplexed, 
as from his waistcoat he drew 
a biscuit-thin gold watch and, 
with a glance at the clock, 
deliberately twisted the hands back an hour. 
41 No, I heard nothing," he repeated. 
" There was nothing to hear." Then he raised 
his eyes and looked at her pleadingly, a hand 
half extended. I- But I can't believe that 
Summer Time is over/' he said. 

There are oases in every desert. If it were 
not so there would be no such thing as a 
happy ending. 

by Google 

Original from 




7Ae World-Famous Runner 

. ^ ^ 

^ ^T ANY of the discoveries in the world 
%/l of science, art, and even sport are 

If X the result of accidents. A burning 
straw-rick was responsible for 
starting me on my running career and firing 
rae with enthusiasm for long-distance racing. 
In the pretty Sussex village of Horsham 
there were few excitements, and when one 
night the fire- bell clanged out its ominous 
warning the thrill of adventure appealed to 
my boyish nature. One accident led to 
another. In my curiosity to find out where 
the fire was I met F. J, Spencer, a member 
of the Horsham Blue Star Harriers, He and 
1 were unknown to each other but we struck 
up an acquaintanceship which ripened into 
one of the closest friendships of my life, 
As we stood waiting for the engines, 
Spencer suggested that we should run to the 
fire, which was three miles away, at a 
small place called South water. This seemed 
rather a tall order to me. All day I had been 
carrying bricks up a thirty -rung ladder and 
felt stiff and sore. But on Spencer promising 
not to run too fast T agreed to accompany 
him. I found my heavy boots and working 
clothes a big handicap, but Spencer encou- 
raged me as we trotted along in the dark- 
ness, slowing down a little when I appeared 
to be tiring, then increasing the pace when 
I got my wind. I had expected to see some- 
thing good in the way of conflagrations, and 
keen was my disappointment when we arrived 
to find only a mass of smouldering straw. 

On getting back home at one o'clock in 
the morning Spencer expressed himself 
gratified that I should have stayed the 
distance so well. 

li Alf/' he said, *' I feel sure that you have 
the makings of a runner in you. Why not 
join the Blue Star Harriers ? M 

Youngster-like, I felt flattered, accepted 
the invitation, and ran with him regularly 
two nights a week. Spencer was my guide, 
counsellor, and friend in my salad days, and 
to his kindly advice and help I owe much of 
my success on the running track. 

Being now over forty years of age, I am 
out of the running, so far as actual com- 
petition goes. Still, it is better to be a 
M has-been " than a " never- was," and I 
intend to devote my time, energy, and 
experience to training and coaching the 
young idea, so that they may uphold the 
fair name of Britain — the greatest sporting 
nation in the world — and develop their 
bodies, as well as their brains, along healthy 
and profitable lines. 

Twenty years on the running track have 
stored up a wealth of interesting memories, 
and 1 should like to recall some of the 
incidents that stand out in bold relief in my 
mental vision as I write. 


SCOTLAND gave me a wonderful reception 
when at Glasgow, on November 5th, 1904, 
I set out to lower the ten miles record. 
A large blackboard had been erected in the 
centre of the ground, with a man on either 
side of it to write the time for every mile 
as I passed around the track. This was 
a splendid idea. On a quarter- mile track 
there are two long straights, and by the 
blackboard method one can see at a glance 
what time he is doing as he passes up one 
side and down the other. It worries a 
runner who is out to break records to hear 
a raucous -voiced individual shouting the 
various times. 

I had read of doughty deeds done by 
valiant Scots inspired by the music of the 
bagpipes, and before I started I asked my 
friend Brown to get a piper to play at 
intervals. The effect upon me was magical. 
As I walked from my dressing-room- the 
cheers of the crowd were deafening To me 
it seemed as if all Scotland had suddenly 
emptied itself into that wonderful arena. 
Standing on the scratch line I had to wait 
as patiently as possible until all the other 
runners had got off their marks, according to 
their time starts, which ranged from one to 
nine minutes. A great shout went up as I 
set out on my task. Running to my schedule, 
I reeled off mile after mile, each one being 
punctuated bv ixkits of approbation from 
the cro^|V^.|^.^et-*FOfthMf- however. 

Alfred Shrubb 


I had fallen behind schedule to the extent 
of about fifteen seconds. In answer to 
frantic appeals I pulled myself together and 
rushed away for a quarter of a mile, when 
I was about twenty seconds to the good. 
Thus I passed the critical stage of the race. 
From then onwards I felt that, barring 
unforeseen accidents, success was assured. 
My limbs were moving strongly and freely 
and my wind was sound as a bell. Gradually 
the other runners were being pulled in and 
passed, and as I entered upon the last mile, 
well ahead of my schedule, I had almost 
caught up the limit man. 


A QUARTER of a mile from home the 
bell rang, and to the accompaniment of 
tumultuous and continuous cheers I 
sprinted round the last 
lap, beating all the handi- 
capped men and breasting 
the tape in the record 
time of 50mm. 4o3sec. 

" Now go for the hour 
record, Shrubb ! The 
chance of a lifetime ! l ' 
shouted the officials and 
spectators. And although 
I was suffering from reac- 
tion caused by that final 
sprint, like Alexander of 
old I was out for fresh 
worlds to conquer, I 
M strengthened my sinews 
and summoned up the 
blood." The pipes skirled 
and spurred me on to my 
final and greater effort, 
and I shall never forget 
the closing scenes as I 
laid low the world's ama- 
teur record for the hour, 
completing n miles 1,137 
yards. They carried me 
to the pavilion shoulder 
high, sang " Will ye no' 
come back again ? " and 
cheered until they were 


I DO not believe in 
Marathon races. There 
is a limit to human 
endurance, and man was 
never made to run 26 
miles 385 yards. The 
Marathon beat me and 
I am not sorry. It was 
outside my distance. Still, 
although I never fancied 
my chances, I had one 
thrilling exjserience when 

I ran Tom Longboat, the Indian, at Madison 
Square Garden, New York, This, is " some '' 
build in g t accommodating from twenty-five to 
thirty thousand spectators. 

1 made the pace straight away and was 
soon a lap in front of Longboat, who kept 
plodding along steadily. I increased my 
lead until at the end of twenty miles I was 
nine laps ahead. Longboat, I may say. was 
the most imperturbable runner I have ever 
met. If I had been twice the number of laps 
in front of him it would not have made any 
difference to the Indian. He knew what he 
con Id do, and although he was always rather 
uncommunicative, he told me after the race 
that he was certain I could not last it out. 

After leading by a mile right through to 
the twenty -third mile I became sick and 
collapsed. Longboat finished the distance 
ond won. To this day 
people ask me why, when 
I had such a commanding 
lead, I became hors de 
combat I can partially 
explain this by saying 
that the building was full 
of the smoke from a 
thousand cigars, Long- 
boat said this did not 
affect him— in fact, he 
rather liked it — but I had 
never been accustomed 
to it. 

Tom, however, ran a 
wonderful race and de- 
served to win. He w:i-. 
running at his distance; 
I was not. In subse- 
quent contests I competed 
against all the big Mara- 
thon men in America and 
Canada! including ten, 
twelve, and fifteen mii f *s 
with Lon gboa t ; fi f tee n 
miles with Dorando, the 
Italian ; twelve, fifteen, 
and twenty miles with St. 
Yves, the Frenchman ; 
and twelve and fifteen 
miles with Johnny Hives, 
the American Olympic 
winner In 1908, and won 
all of these races. 

In spite of my aversion 
for Marathons, I have 
the greatest admiration 
for these big-hearted ath- 
letes who are out to do 
what has never been done 
before. Everyone remem- 
bers the Big Four in 
Alfred Shrubb, afler winning the Ten these races. They stand 
Miles Cross-country Championship a! pre-eminent in running 
M a nche^r.ip /ERS|Ty0F ^^ N Longboat the 


A Record-Breaker's Memories 

reticent* almost taciturn — a wonderful ath- 
lete ; St- Yves, slightly bandy-legged, short 
and thick-set, a lion-hearted little man, 
who was said to train on light French 
wines ; Dorando, the lovable Italian, who 
crowned his long-distance achievements by 
staggering to the tape in the memorable 
Olympic Games in 190S ; and Billv Sherring, 
who won the Greek Marathon at Athens in 

My recollection of Billy is crowded almost 
into one race. This took place at the Base- 
ball Grounds, Buffalo, the distance being 
fifteen miles. I burst the tape six laps ahead 
of him, ran to my dressing-room, picked up 
my camera, and strolled back to the winning- 
post in time to take a snapshot of Billy 
finishing'. Sherring, one of the best sports- 
men that ever lived, thoroughly enjoyed the 
situation, and the newspapers made much 
good fun out of the incident, ' 

Of indoor tracks we know nothing in this 
country, but they are quite plentiful in 
America, The majority are made of boards, 
and range from eight to twelve laps to the 
mile. The runners have special shoes made 
for the purpose, 

After I had beaten many of America's 
best professionals on level terms it was 
suggested that I should " try my strength " 
in relay races, running two, three, and five 
men at different distances. This led up to 
one incident which is perhaps worth putting 
on record. 

At Boston I accepted a challenge to run 
five men for ten miles, each of my com- 
petitors to run two of the ten miles* The 
outside public, when they learned the names 
of the selected 


ones, were 
vinced in 
own minds 
this time I 





bitten off more 
than I could chew. 
The five men 
were : Frank 
Kanaly, the 
American five- 
mile champion ; 
Tom Williams and 
Sam Myers, of 
Boston ; and Tall 
Feather and Red 
Hawk, two In- 
dians from the 

In this race my 
only stipulation 
was that I should 
be allowed to say 
which man should 
be chosen to start 
the race. After 

some demur this was agreed to. We 
played, or rather ran, before a packed 
fi house " that night. Everyone was in- 
trigued with the novel idea, and wondered 
which man I should select to start off with. 
To me the proper course seemed obvious — to 
select the slowest man so that I might force 
a big lead on him over the first two miles. 
This, of course, meant that the second man 
had to run " all out " t;> gain the lead back 
again , 

It was all a matter of strategy. I allowed 
the second man to run himself out the first 
mile, taking it easy while he was pumping 
his heart out, as it were. Then I dashed 
ahead for the next mile and regained my 
former iead. Adopting the same tactics 
with the third, fourth, and fifth men, I 
finished an easy winner. 

In the same building, on another occasion, 
I ran three men for six miles, each of my 
opponents doing two miles, and gave them 
the privilege of placing them in any OTder 
they liked. This race I also won. 


OOMETIMES during my Canadian tour 
lJ I found it hard to get com pe t i tors p 
and this led to another unique ex- 
perience. A friend and I were talking over 
matters one day when he said, "If you 
can't find a man to compete with, why 
not run against a horse ? " The idea tickled 
me immensely j and echo answered, '* Why 
not ? " 

After leaving Winnipeg I went to Portage 
la Prairie, a little town fifty -two miles west, 
and at once proceeded to the nearest livery 


M Do you mind 
if I have a look 
at your horses ? " 
I asked the pro- 
prietor. He had 
no objection. I 
examined them 
and found one 
which I thought 
ought to be able 
to go ten miles at 
a good pace, 

" Now then," I 
said, M I want to 
make a contract 
with you. I am 
out here on a 
running tour and 
want to fix up 
some big matches. 
It would be a 
novel sight for the 
local residents to 

Breaking the two miles amateur record al witness a real con 

Kennington Oval. UNIVERSITY OF Ml IWiA Between 1 

Alfred Shrubb 


man and a horse. Have you an animal 
good enough to stay the distance of ten 
miles ? "' 

His reply was in the form of another 
question : " What will you pay me ? " 

n 1*11 give you twenty-five dollars, and 
you will receive the money before you go 
off the mark/ 1 

The bargain was clinched, and the pro- 
prietor immediately started training one of 
his best animals 
on the road . 
After six days' 
preparation I 
again asked 
him if he 
though t the 
horse could do 

He seemed 
rather dubious 
about it, so I 
put forward 
another sugges- 
tion, which was 
that he should 
bring another 
horse to the 
ground, and if 
at the end of 
five miles he 
found that the 
first horse was 
unlikely to 
finish he could 
start the second 
one from the 
half - way dis- 

The people 
turned out en 
masse, and some 
big bets were 
made on the 

According to 
agreement, the 

horse was driven in a buggy, the occupants 
weighing about one hundred and eighty 

Crack went the pistol and off we went on 
our long journey. The horse took the lead 
by about sixty yards in the first mile and a 
half, but by the time we had doubled that 
distance I had caught up my four-legged 
opponent, who appeared to be going rather 
groggy* When five miles had been covered 
it was obvious that he could not stay the 
full coarse, and horse No* 2 then took up 
the running* 

I had set myself to do the race in 52mm* 
3osec* if possible. 

The fresh horse started off in great style 
and soon got back the ground lost by his 


stable companion. I was feeling in good 
fettle, however. Up to the last one hundred 
and twenty yards we ran nee k-and -neck, 
and the excitement became intense. At this 
stage there appeared to me only one chance 
to win. Remembering that a horse will not 
willingly run over a man, I jumped in front 
of his head, and in this way kept my lead, 
swerving first to one side of the track, then 
to the other, and just winning on the post. 

My time for this 
race was szmin* 
40^ see. 

I have ap- 
peared on many 
queer tracks in 
my time, but 
the most extra- 
ordinary of all 
was when at 
St, Lawrence, 
Mass,, I ran a 
five - mile race 
against Sam 
Myers, of 
Boston, U.S.A., 
in what was 
known as the 

The track 
itself, fourteen 
Japs to the mile, 
was boarded, 
and around this 
chairs were 
placed with the 
backs to the 
runners* The 
audience sat 
looking over the 
backs of the 
chairs. It was 
at once evident 
that we were up 
against difficul- 
ties. Running 
at top speed it appeared impossible to get 
ruimd the corners without doing some damage 
to ourselves or others, or both. 

Realizing that 1 was "up against " an 
opponent who could show a clean pair of 
heels, I shot in front at the sound of the 
pis toL to secure the inside position. I kept 
my lead for a mile and a quarter; then, 
feeling that I should increase it, I decided to 
do so whilst going up one of the straights. 

But the inevitable happened. I flew 
towards one of the corners, caught hold of a 
chair to save myself, and fell heavily. My 
opponent played leapfrog over the chair and 
fell on top of me, We both scrambled to our 
feet, bruised and shaken, and I managed to 

and Tom Longboat, the 
running a Marathon race 
in New York. 


A Record- Breaker's Memories 


AN unrehearsed incident happened to me 
when I visited Boston. I had just 
arrived from New York City, and had 
bought a brand new suit-case. This I took 
with me to Park Square Coliseum, where I 
was running. 

After the race an Englishman from Man- 
chester — so he said — came to my dressing- 
room and introduced himself. He had seen 
me run many times in Cottonopolis, and his 
admiration for me was unbounded. Would 
I dine with him in the evening ? 

I accepted^his.kind invitation, and he took 
my suit-case while I went to the manager's 
office to settle up my affairs. Fifteen 
minutes later, when I came to look for my 
newly-found;/' friend," he had disappeared, 
along with 'the suit-case. 

Several of the spectators who were standing 
outside the dressing-room informed me that 
they had seen the gentleman I was looking 
for making his way to the subway trains. 

Immediately I set out to establish another 
world's record, but my discomfiture and 
disgust may well be imagined when I disco- 
vered that I had been beaten on the post. 
The train was gliding out for Sullivan Square 
and the gates were banged in my face. 
Officials telephoned to the next station, but 
Boston being a city of one million souls, it. 
was like hunting for the proverbial needle in 
a haystack or looking for your long-lost 
brother at an English Cup final. 

If only he had left my running-shoes I 
should not have grieved about my loss, but 
they had won me many a big race, and I 
found it hard to get their equal. As the 
alleged Mancunian stood about six feet I am 
afraid the running outfit would not be of 
much personal use to him. I have an. idea, 
however, that it was my money he wanted. 
If so he would find the suit-case a mare's 
nest rather than a Tom Tiddler's ground, as 
I always took care to leave my cash in the 
safe keeping of one of the sports officials. 


IN the course of my career I have trained 
many athletes by mail. Every week I 
reply to hundreds of letters from youths 
who want to study my methods. While 
running at my best in England in 1902-3-4, 
I received a communication from a Mr. 
J. W. Johnson, a young American student, 
asking for my advice, as he was trying to 
make the one and two miles. I gave it 

Later, when I went to Boston in 1907, an 
invitation came for me to visit the Harvard 
University track. This, by the way, is one 
of the finest stadiums I have ever seen. 
Horseshoe in shape, it is built of cement, 

and is capable of holding about eighty 
thousand people. 

Looking round the place I saw a runner 
putting up what I considered rather a good 
show. As he had no pace-maker I volun- 
teered to assist him. It did not take me 
many minutes to change, and soon we were 
scampering round the track together. At 
intervals I gave him a few words of kindly- 
meant advice. 

He smiled rather sardonically, I thought, 
and said : " You seem to know something 
about the game. Have you ever taken 
lessons from Shrubb of England ? I have, 
and he has improved me wonderfully." 

I laughed outright and he was obviously 
annoyed. ; . 

" Don't you think this man Shrubb is any 
good ? " he asked. 

" Well," I replied, " I don't exactly think- 
that. I have heard a good^ deal of him 
myself in long-distance work. But before 
we go any further/ may I ask what your 
name is ? " 

" My name," he answered, "is J. W. 
Johnson, of Rochester, New York." 

" And mine," I added, '* is Alfred Shrubb, 
of England, the man who has been giving 
you written tuition." 

I shall never forget that American's face. 
As a study in amazed surprise it would have 
made a small fortune on the kinema. 

All training requires individual treatment, 
but there are certain rules that have a 
universal application to youths who are 
keen on running. 

Boys between the ages of thirteen and 
sixteen should be particularly careful not to 
overtrain, as this will ruin their chances of 
success when opportunity knocks at the 
door at nineteen to twenty-five, an athlete's 
best years. 

Many boys make the serious mistake ot 
taking part in long-distance races. They 
should concentrate on the hundred yards, 
quarter-mile, and half-mile until they are old 
enough to go in for more sustained and 
vigorous training. Even the shorter dis- 
tances ought not to be run too often, but 
merely in order to keep them in condition. 

To the athletes who are capable of taking 
part in real competitions I would advise easy 
preliminary work in whatever distances they 
are running. 

For instance, any runner can manage the 
hundred yards and quarter-mile comfortably, 
but he must specialize in these and leave 
other lengths alone if he is determined to 
achieve success. 

The half-mile and mile are two other 
events that always work together. Again, 
longer distances of from two to five miles 
will carry the average runner through a 
ten-mile kjWfffK 1 fecc^sicnaJliyt^ojf course, he 

Alfred Shrubb 


will have to run the full distance, with other 
work at four miles fast, then six and eight 
miles, until the necessary stamina is secured, 

hefore breakfast. The fresh morning air is 
pure and invigorating, and a£ sound lungs are 
the first essential, this is highly important. 

He must also be careful to diet 
himself properly. Plenty of good plain 
food, such as toast, boiled eggs, grilled 
steaks or roast beef (well done), with 
green vegetables and not too many 
potatoes, rice, tapioca, and sago pud* 
dings and custards, with preserved pears , 
pineapples, or peaches. If he rings the 

take as 

When taking part in races 
the competitor should always 
arrive at his destination from 
three to four hours before the 
start, or, if possible, the night 
before. He should keep away 
from excitement of all kinds 
much rest as possible, 

just before actually setting out for the 
race a light rub-down should be indulged in, 
and the competitor should not arrive on the 
mark until the race is almost due. 

When it is finished he should proceed 
straight to the dressing-room, take a Juke- 
warm bath, and change into his other clothes 
quickly. This will keep the cold from the 
muscles and sinews, the cause of many a 
breakdown to good athletes. 

While in training he should go to bed early, 
not later than ten o'clock, rise in the morning 
at seven, and take a brisk walk for a mile 

Man o r Hotse- 
SHrubb just 
winning on the 

changes on this routine, and is moderate in 
all tlungs, he will climb well up the ladder 




THE young man, as 
he sat filling his 
pipe in the club- 
house smoking-room, 
was inclined to be bitter. 

" If there's one thing that gives 
me a pain squarely in the centre of 
the gizzard/' he burst out, breaking a 
silence that had lasted for some minutes, 
"it's a golf-lawyer* They oughtn't to be 
allowed on the links/* 

The Oldest Member, who had been medita- 
tively putting himself outside a cup of tea 
and a slice of seed-cake, raised his white 

11 The Law/' he said, " is an honourable 
profession. Why should its practitioners be 
restrained from indulgence in the game of 
games ? " 

" I don't mean actual lawyers/ 1 said the 
young man, his acerbity mellowing a trifle 
under the influence of tobacco. " I mean 
the blighters whose best club is the book of 
rules. You know the sort of excrescences. 
Every time you think youVe won a hole, 
they dig out Rule eight hundred and fifty- 
three, section two, sub -sect ion four, to prove 
that you've disqualified yourself by having 
an ingrowing toe-nail. Well, take my case/' 
The young man's voice was high and plaintive, 
" I go out with that man Hemmingway to 
play an ordinary friendly round — nothing 
depending on it except a measly ball— and 
on the seventh he pulls me up and claims 
the hole simply because I happened to drop 
my niblick in the bunker. Oh, well, a 
tick's a tick, and there's nothing more to say, 
I suppose/' 

The Sage shook his head. /— 

" Rules are rules, my boy, and must be 

Copyright, rgai, by 


. MILLS i 

kept. It is curious that 
you should have brought 
up this subject, for only a 
moment before you came in I 
was thinking of a somewhat 
curious match which ultimately 
turned upon a question of the rule- 
book. It is true that, as far as the 
actual prize was concerned, it made little 
difference. But perhaps I had better tell 
you the whole story from the beginning/' 

The young man shifted uneasily in his 

" Well, you know, I've had a pretty 
rotten time this afternoon already—" 

M I will call my story/' said the Sage, 
tranquilly, " ' The Long Hole/ for it involved 
the playing of what I am inclined to think 
must be the longest hole in the history of 

11 I half promised to go and see a man " 

" But I will begin at the beginning/' said 
the Sage, " I see that you are all impatience 
to hear the full details;" 

RALPH BINGHAM and Arthur Jukes 
(said the Oldest Member) had never 
been friends— their rivalry was too 
keen to admit of that — but it was not till 
Amelia Trivett came to stay at Leigh that 
a smouldering distaste for each other burst 
out into the flames of actual enmity. It 
is ever so. One of the poets, whose name 
I cannot recall, has a passage, which I 
am unable at the moment to remember, 
in one of his works, which for the time 
being has slipped my mind, which hits 
off admirably this age-old situation. The 
gist of his remarks i.5 that lovelv woman 

/i^^aflai?^^ ^n^^ffeA hf n lit * weeks 

P. G. Wodehouse 


that followed her arrival, being in the same 
room with the two men was like dropping in 
on a reunion of Capulets and Montagues. 

You see, Ralph and Arthur were so exactly 
equal in their skill on the links that life for 
them had for some time past resolved itself 
into a silent, bitter struggle in which first 
one, then the other, gained some slight 
advantage. If Ralph won the May medal 
by a stroke, Arthur would be one ahead in the 
June competition, only to be nosed out 
again in July. It was a state of affairs 
which, had they been men of a more generous 
stamp, would have bred a mutual respect, 
esteem, and even love. But I am sorry to 
say that, apart from their golf, which was 
in a class of its own as far as this neighbour- 
hood was concerned, Ralph Bingham and 
Arthur Jukes were nothing less than a couple 
of unfortunate incidents. A sorry pair — 
and yet, mark you, far from lacking in mere 
superficial good looks. They were handsome 
fellows, both of them, and well aware of the 
fact ; and when Amelia Trivett came to 
stay they simply straightened their ties, 
twirled their moustaches, and expected her 
to do the rest. 

But here they were disappointed. Per- 
fectly friendly though she was to both of 
them, the love-light was conspicuously 
absent from her beautiful eyes. And it was 
not long before each had come independently 
to a solution of this mystery. It was plain 
to them that the whole trouble lay in the fact 
that each neutralized the other's attractions. 
Arthur felt that, if he could only have a 
clear field, all would be over except the 
sending out of the wedding invitations ; and 
Ralph was of opinion that, if he could just 
call on the girl one evening without finding 
the place all littered up with Arthur, his 
natural charms would swiftly bring home the 
bacon. And, indeed, it was true that they 
had no rivals except themselves. It hap- 
pened at the moment that Leigh was ex- 
traordinarily short of eligible bachelors. We 
marry young in this delightful spot, and all 
the likely men were already paired off. It 
seemed that, if Amelia Trivett intended to 
get married, she would have to select either 
Ralph Bingham or Arthur Jukes. A 
dreadful choice. 

IT had not occurred to me at the outset that 
my position in the affair would be any- 
thing closer than that of a detached and 
mildly interested spectator. Yet it was to 
me that Ralph came in his hour of need. 
When I returned home one evening, I found 
that my man had brought him in and laid 
him on the mat in my sitting-room. 

I offered him a chair and a cigar, and he 
came to the point with commendable 

" Leigh," he said, directly he had lighted 
his cigar, " is too small for Arthur Jukes and 

" Ah, you have been talking it over and 
decided to move ? " I said, delighted. " I 
think you are perfectly right. Leigh is 
over-built. Men like you and Jukes need a 
lot of space. Where do you think of going ? " 

" I'm not going." 

" But I thought you said " 

" What I meant was that the time has 
come when one of us must leave." 

11 Oh, only one of you ? " It was some- 
thing, of course, but I confess I was disap- 
pointed, and I think my disappointment 
must have shown in my voice ; for he looked 
at me, surprised. 

" Surely you wouldn't mind Jukes going ? " 
he said. 

" Why, certainly not. He really is going, 
is he ? " 

A look of saturnin^ determination came 
into Ralph's face. 

" He is. He thinkshe isn't, but he is." 

I failed to understand him, and said so. 
He looked cautiously about the room, as if to 
reassure himself that he could not be over- 

"I suppose you've noticed," he said, " the 
disgusting way that man Jukes has been 
hanging round Miss Trivett, boring her to 
death ? " 

" I have seen them together sometimes." 

" I love Amelia Trivett 1 " said Ralph. 

" Poor girl ! " I sighed. 

** I beg your pardon ? " 

" Poor girl ! " I said. " I mean, to have 
Arthur Jukes hanging round her." 

'* That's just what I think," said Ralph 
Bingham. " And that's why we're going to 
play this match." 

" What match ? " 

" This match we've decided to play. 1 
want you to act as one of the judges, to go 
along with Jukes and see that he doesn't 
play any of his tricks. You know what he 
is ! And in a vital match like this " 

" How much are you playing for ? " 

" The whole world ! " 

" I beg your pardon ? " 

" The whole world. It amounts to that. 
The loser is to leave Leigh for good, and the 
winner stays on and marries Amelia Trivett. 
We have arranged all the details. Rupert 
Bailey will accompany me, acting as the 
other judge." 

" And you want me to go round with 
Jukes ? " * 

" Not round," said Ralph Bingham. 
" Along." 

" What is the distinction ? " 

" We are not going to play a round. 
Only one hole/' - a | fjr,™ 

" WSfWftfcHIGAN 

I2 4 

The Long Hole 

" Not so very sudden. It's a longish hole. 
We start on the first tee here and hole out 
in the doorway of the Majestic Hotel in 
Royal Square. A distance, I imagine, of 
about sixteen miles." 

I was revolted. About that time a perfect 
epidemic of freak matches had broken out 
in the club, and I had strongly opposed them 
from the start. George Willis had begun it 
by playing a medal round with the pro., 
George's first nine against the pro.'s com- 
plete eighteen. After that came the 
contest between Herbert Widgeon and 
Montague Brown, the latter, a twenty-four 
handicap man, being entitled to shout "Boo! " 
three times during the round at moments 
selected by himself. There had been many 
more of these degrading travesties on the 
sacred game, and I had writhed to see them. 
Playing freak golf-matches is to my mind like 
ragging a great classical melody. But of the 
whole collection this one, considering the 
sentimental interest and . the magnitude of 
the stakes, seemed to me the most terrible. 
My face, I imagine, betrayed my disgust, for 
Bingham attempted extenuation. 

" It's the only way," he said. " You 
know how Jukes and I are on the links. 
We are as level as two men can be. This, 
of course, is due to his extraordinary luck. 
Everybody knows that he is the world's 
champion fluker. I, on the other hand, 
invariably have the worst luck. The con- 
sequence is that in an ordinary round it is 
always a toss-up which of us wins. The 
test we propose will eliminate luck. After 
sixteen miles of give-and-take play, I am 
certain — that is to say, the better man is 
certain to be ahead. That is what I meant 
when I said that Arthur Jukes would shortly 
be leaving Leigh. Well, may I take it 
that you will consent to act as one of the 
judges ? " 

I considered. After all, the match was 
likely to be historic, and one always feels 
tempted to hand one's name down to 

" Very well," I said. 

' Excellent. You will have to keep a 
sharp eye on Jukes, I need scarcely remind 
you. You will, of course, carry a book of 
the rules in your pocket and refer to them 
when you wish to refresh your memory. 
We start at daybreak, for, if we put it off till 
later, the course at the other end might be 
somewhat congested when we reached it. 
We want to avoid publicity as far as possible. 
If I took a full iron and hit a policeman, it 
would excite remark." 

" It would. I can tell you the exact remark 
which it would excite." 

" We shall take bicycles with us, to 
minimize the fatigue of covering the distance. 
Well, I am glad that we have your co- 

operation. At daybreak to-morrow on the 
first tee, and don't forget to bring your 

THE atmosphere brooding over the first 
tee, when I reached it on the following 
morning, somewhat resembled that of 
a duelling-ground in the days when these 
affairs were settled with rapiers or pistols. 
Rupert Bailey, an old friend of mine, was 
the only cheerful member of the party. I 
am never at my best in the early morning, 
and the two rivals glared at each other 
with silent sneers. I had never supposed 
till that moment that men ever really 
sneered at one another outside the movies, 
but these two were indisputably doing so. 
They were in the mood when men say 
" Pshaw ! " 

They tossed for the honour, and Arthur 
Jukes, having won, drove off with a fine 
ball that landed well down the course. 
Ralph Bingham, having teed up, turned to 
Rupert Bailey. 

" Go down on to the fairway of the 
seventeenth," he said. " I want you to 
mark my ball." 

Rupert stared. 

" The seventeenth ! " 

" I am going to take that direction," said. 
Ralph, pointing over the trees. 

" But that will land your second or third- 
shot in the lake." 

" I have provided for that. I have a 
flat-bottomed boat moored close by the 
sixteenth green. I shall use a mashie- 
niblick and chip my ball aboard, row across 
to the other side, chip it ashore, and carry 
on. I propose to go across country as far 
as Woodfield. I think it will save me a 
stroke or two." 

I gasped. I had never before realized the 
man's devilish cunning. His tactics gave 
him a flying start. Arthur, who had driven 
straight down the course, had as his objective 
the high road, which adjoins the waste 
ground beyond the first green. Once there, 
he would play the orthodox game by driving 
his ball along till he reached the bridge. 
While Arthur was winding along the high 
road, Ralph would have cut off practically 
two sides of a triangle. And it was hopeless 
for Arthur to imitate his enemy's tactics 
now. From where his ball lay he would 
have to cross a wide tract of marsh in 
order to reach the seventeenth fairway — an 
impossible feat. And, even if it had been 
feasible, he had no boat to take him across 
the water. 

He uttered a violent protest. He was an 
unpleasant young man, almost — it seems 
absurd to say so, but almost as unpleasant 
as Ralph Bingham : jet at the moment I 
am bound to say I sympathized with him. 

P. G. Wodehouse 


Ralph, having teed up, turned to Rupert* * Go down on to the fairway of the 
seventeenth,* he said. * I want you to mark my ball.* " 

" What are you doing ? " he demanded. 
" You can't play fast and loose with the rules 
lite that." 

' To what rule do you refer ? s ' said Ralph, 

41 Well, that bally boat of yours is a 
hazard, isn't it ? And you can't row a 
hazard about all over the place," 

' Why not ? M 

The simple question seemed to take Arthur 
Jukes aback. 

" Why not ? " he repeated. " Why not ? 
Well, you can't. That's why." 

f " There is nothing in the rules,'* said 
Ralph Bingham, " against moving a hazard. 
If a hazard can be moved without disturbing 
the ball, you are at liberty, I gather, to move 
it whe r<r/2$\| ~[jft)(j F <MfcGrtfeAi4ease . Besides, 


The Long Hole 

what is all this about moving hazards ? I 
have a perfect right to go for a morning row, 
haven't I ? If I were to ask my doctor, he 
would probably actually recommend it. I 
am going to row my boat across the sound. 
If it happens to have my ball on board, that 
is not my affair. I shall not disturb my 
ball, and I shall play it from where it lies. 
Am I right in saying that the rules enact 
that the ball shall be played from where it 
lies ? " 

We admitted that he was. 

" Very well, then," said Ralph Bingham. 
" Don't let us waste any more time. We will 
wait for you at Woodfield." 

He addressed his ball, and drove a beauty 
over the trees. It flashed out of sight in the 
direction of the seventeenth tee. Arthur 
and I made our way down the hill to play our 

IT is a curious trait of the human mind 
that, however little personal interest one 
may have in the result, it is impossible 
to prevent oneself taking sides in any event 
of a competitive nature. I had embarked 
on this affair in a purely neutral spirit, not 
caring which of the two won and only sorry 
that both could not lose. Yet, as the 
morning wore on, I found myself almost 
unconsciously becoming distinctly pro-Jukes. 
I did not like the man. I 'objected to his 
face, his manners, and the colour of his tie. 
Yet there was something in the dogged way 
in which he struggled against adversity 
which touched me and won my grudging 
support. Many men, I felt, having been so 
outmanoeuvred at the start, would have 
given up the contest in despair ; but Arthur 
Jukes, for all his defects, had the soul of a 
true golfer. He declined to give up. In 
grim silence he hacked his ball through the 
rough till he reached the high road ; and 
then, having played twenty-seven, set him- 
self resolutely to propel it on its long journey. 
It was a lovely morning, and, as I bicycled 
along, keeping a fatherly eye on Arthur's 
activities, I realized for the first time in my 
life the full meaning of that exquisite phrase 
of Coleridge : — 

" Clothing the palpable and familiar 
With golden exhalations of the dawn,** 

for in the pellucid air everything seemed 
weirdly beautiful, even Arthur Jukes's 
heather-mixture knickerbockers, of which 
hitherto I had never approved. The sun 
gleamed on their seat, as he bent to make 
his shots, in a cheerful and almost a poetic 
way. The birds were singing gaily in the 
hedgerows, and such was my uplifted state 
that I, too, burst into song, until Arthur 
petulantly desired me to refrain, on the plea 
that, though he ^yielded to no man in his 

enjoyment of farmyard imitations in their 
proper place, I put him off his stroke. And 
so we passed through Bayside in silence and 
started to cover that long stretch of road 
which ends in the railway bridge and the 
gentle descent into Woodfield. 

ARTHUR was not doing badly. He was 
jf^ at least keeping them straight. And 
in the circumstances straightness was 
to be preferred to distance. Soon after 
leaving Little Hadley he had become 
ambitious and had used his brassy with 
disastrous results, slicing his fifty-third into 
the rough on the right of the road. It 
had taken him ten with the niblick to get 
back on to the car tracks, and this had 
taught him prudence. 

He was now using his putter for every 
shot, and, except when he got trapped in the 
cross-lines at the top of the hill just before 
reaching Bayside, he had been in no serious 
difficulties. He was playing a nice easy 
game, getting the full face of the putter on to 
each shot. 

At the top of the slope that drops down 
into Woodfield High Street. he paused. 

** I think I might try my brassy again 
here," he said. mt I have a nice lie." 

" Is it wise ? " I said. 

He looked down the hill. 

" What I was thinking," he said, " was 
that with it I might wing that man Bingham. 
I see he is standing right out in the middle of 
the fairway." 

I followed his gaze. It was perfectly true. 
Ralph Bingham was leaning on his bicycle 
in the roadway, smoking a cigarette. Even 
at this distance one could detect the man's 
disgustingly complacent expression. Rupert 
Bailey was sitting with his back against the 
door of the Woodfield Garage, looking rather 
used up. He was a man who liked to keep 
himself clean and tidy, and it was plain that 
the cross-country trip had done him no 
good. He seemed to be scraping mud off 
his face, I learned later that he had had the 
misfortune to fall into a ditch just beyond 

" No," said Arthur. " On second thoughts, 
the safe game is the one to play. I'll stick 
to the putter." 

We dropped down the hill, and presently 
came up with the opposition. I had not 
been mistaken in thinking that Ralph 
Bingham looked complacent. The man was 

" Playing three hundred and ninety-six," 
he said, as we drew near. M How are 
you ? " 

I consulted my score-card. 

" We have played a snappy seven hundred 
and eleven," I 5sid. :i | from 

M %i?B^--ira&iiG)ffl pert BaiIey 

P. G. Wodehouse 


made no comment. He was too busy with 
the alluvial deposits on his person. 

" Perhaps you would like to give up the 
match ? " said Ralph to Arthur. 

" Tchah ! " said Arthur. 

" Might just as well." 

" Pah ! " said Arthur. 

" You can't win now." 

" Pshaw ! " said Arthur. 

I am aware that Arthur's dialogue might 
have been brighter, but he had been through 
a trying time. 

Rupert Bailey sidled up to me. 

"I'm going home," he said. 

" Nonsense ! " I replied. " You are in an 
official capacity. You must stick to your 
post. Besides, what could be nicer than a 
pleasant morning ramble ? " 

" Pleasant morning ramble my number 
nine foot! " he replied, peevishly. " I want to 
get back to civilization and set an excavating 
party with pickaxes to work on me." 

" You take too gloomy a view of the 
matter. You are a little dusty. Nothing 

" And it's not only the being buried alive 
that I mind. I cannot "stick Ralph Bingham 
much longer." 

" You have found him trying ? " 

" Trying ! Why, after I had fallen into 
that ditch and was coming up for the third 
time, all the man did was simply to call to 
me to admire an infernal iron shot he had 
just made. No sympathy, mind you ! 
Wrapped up in himself. Why don't you 
make your man give up the match ? He 
can't win." 

" I refuse to admit it. Much may happen 
between here and Royal Square." 

I have seldom known a prophecy more 
swiftly fulfilled. At this moment the doors 
of the Woodfield Garage opened and a small 
car rolled out with a grimy young man in 
a sweater at the wheel. He brought the 
machine out into the road, and alighted and 
went back into the garage, where we heard 
him shouting unintelligibly to someone in 
the rear premises. The car remained puffing 
and panting against the kerb. 

Engaged in conversation with Rupert 
Bailey, I was paying little attention to this 
evidence of an awakening world, when 
suddenly I heard a hoarse, triumphant cry 
from Arthur Jukes, and, turning, I per- 
ceived his ball dropping neatly into the 
car's interior, Arthur himself, brandishing 
a niblick, was dancing about the fairway. 

" Now what about your moving hazards ? " 
he cried. 

At this moment the man in the sweater 
returned, carrying a spanner. Arthur Jukes 
sprang towards him. 

" I'll give you five pounds to drive me to 
Royal Square," he said. 

Vol lxii.-9. 


I do not know what the sweater-clad 
young man's engagements for the morning 
had been originally, but nothing could have 
been more obliging than the ready way in 
which he consented to revise them at a 
moment's notice. I dare say you have 
noticed that the sturdy peasantry of our 
beloved land respond to an offer of five 
pounds as to a bugle-call. 

" You're on," said the youth. 

" Good ! " said Arthur Jukes. 

" You think you're darned clever," said 
Ralph Bingham. 

" I know it," said Arthur. 

" Well, then," said Ralph, " perhaps you 
will tell us how you propose to get the ball 
out of the car when you reach Royal 
Square ? " 

" Certainly," replied Arthur. " You will 
observe on the side of the vehicle a con- 
venient handle which, when turned, opens 
the door. The door thus opened, I shall 
chip my ball out ! " 

" I see," said Ralph. " Yes, I never 
thought of that." 

THERE was something in the way the 
man spoke that I did not like. His 
mildness seemed to me suspicious. He 
had the air of a man who has something up 
his sleeve. I was still musing on this when 
Arthur called to me impatiently to get in. 
I did so, and we drove off. Arthur was in 
great spirits. He had ascertained from the 
young man at the wheel that there was no 
chance of the opposition being able to hire 
another car at the garage. This machine 
was his own property, and the only other one 
at present in the shop was suffering from 
complicated trouble of the oiling-system and 
would not be able to be moved for at least 
another day. 

I, however, shook my head when he pointed 
out the advantages of his position. I was 
still wondering about Ralph. 

" I don't like it," I said. 

" Don't like what ? " 

" Ralph Bingham's manner." 

" Of course not," said Arthur. " Nobody 
does. There have been complaints on all 

" I meati, when you told him how you 
intended to get the ball out of the car." 

" What was the matter with him ? " 

" He was too— ha ! " 

" How do you mean he was too — ha ? " 

" I have it ! " 

" What ? " 

" I see the trap he was laying for you. It 
has just dawned on me. No wonder he 
didn't object to your opening the door and 
chipping the ball out. By doing so you 
would forfeit the match." 

" Nonsense I Why ? " 



The Long Hole 

" Because/' I said, " it is against the rules 
to tamper with a hazard. If you had got 
into a sand -bunker, would you smooth away 
the sand ? If you had put your shot under a 
tree, could your caddie hold up the branches to 
give you a clear shot ? Obviously you would 
disqualify yourself if you touched that door." 

Arthur's jaw dropped. 

"What! Then how the deuce 
am I to get it out ? " 

if That," i said, gravely, "is 
a question between you and 
your Maker/* 

It was here that Arthur Jukes 
forfeited the sympathy which I 
had begun to feel for him. A 
craft y, sinister look came into 
his eyes. 

" Listen ! " he said. * It'll 
take them an hour to catch 
up with us. Suppose, during 
that time, that door happened 
to open accidentally, as it were, 
and close again ? You wouldn't 
think it necessary to mention 
the fact, eh ? You would be 
a good fellow and keep your 
mouth shut, yes ? You might 
even see your way to go so far 
as to back me up in a statement 
to the effect that I hooked it 
out with my ? " 

I was revolted. 

" I am a golfer," I said, 
coldly, "and I obey the rules." 

1 Yes, but " 

" Those rules were drawn up 

by " — I bared my head 

reverently—" by the Com- 
mittee of the Royal and 
Ancient at St. Andrews. I 
have always respected them, 
and I shall not deviate on 
this occasion from the policy 
of a lifetime." 

Arthur Jukes relapsed into 
a moody silence. He broke it 
once, crossing the West Street 
Bridge, to observe that he 
would like to know if I called myself a friend 
of his — a question which I was able to answer 
with a whole-hearted negative. After that he 
did not speak till the car drew up in front of 
the Majestic Hotel in Royal Square. 

Early as the hour was, a certain bustle and 
animation already prevailed in that centre 
of the city, and the spectacle of a 
man in a golf-coat and plus-four knicker- 
bockers hacking with a niblick at the floor 
of a car was not long in collecting a crowd 
of some dimensions, Three messenger-boys, 
four typists, and a gentleman in full evening- 
dress, who obviously possessed or was 
friendly with someone who possessed a large 

private cellar, formed the nucleus of it ; and 
they were joined about the time when 
Arthur addressed the ball in order to play 
his nine hundred and fifteenth by six 
newsboys, eleven charladies, and perhaps a 
dozen assorted loafers, all speculating with 
the liveliest interest as to which particular 

4 Tt* 

spectacle of a man in a golf' coat and pi us- (our 

of a car was not long in 

asylum had had the honour of sheltering 
Arthur before he had contrived to elude the 
vigilance of his custodians. 

Arthur had prepared for some such con- 
tingency. He suspended his activities with 
the niblick, and drew from his pocket a 
large poster, which he proceeded to hang 
over the side of the car. It read : — 



1 8, West Street, 
^ ■ FOR 



P* G. Wodehouse 


His knowledge of psychology had not 
misled him. Directly they gathered that he 
was advertising something, the crowd 
declined to look at it ; they melted away r 
and Arthur returned to his work in solitude. 

He was taking a well-earned rest after 
playing his eleven hundred and fifth, a nice 

knickerbockers hacking with a niblick at the 

collecting a crowd.*' 

niblick shot with lots of wrist behind it, 
when out of Bridle Street there trickled a 
weary-looking golf- ball, followed in the order 
named by Ralph Bingham, resolute but 
going a trifle at the knees, and Rupert Bailey 
on a bicycle. The latter, on whose face and 
limbs the mud had dried, made an arresting 

" What are you playing ? ,J I inquired, 

"Eleven hundred/' said Rupert, "We 
got into a casual dog-" 

" A casual dog ? " 

" Yes, just before the bridge. We were 
coming along nicely, when a stray dog 
grabbed our nine hundred and ninety-eighth 

and took it nearly back to Wood field, and we 
had to start all over again. How are you 
getting on ? " 

" We have iust played our eleven hundred 
and fifth, A nice even game." I looked at 
Ralph's ball, which was lying close to the 
kerb. " You are farther from the hole, I 

think. Your 
shot, Bing- 

Bailey sug- 
gested break- 
fast* He was 
a man who 
was altogether 
too fond of 
creature com- 
forts. He had 
not the true 
golfing spirit. 

fast I " I ex- 

fast/ 1 said 
Rupert t firmly. 
" If you don't 
know what it 
is, I can teach 
you in half a 
minute. You 
play it with a 
pot of coffee, 
a knife and 
fork, and 
about a hun- 
dred-weight of 
eggs. Try it. 
It's a pastime 
that grows on 

I was sur- 
prised when 
Ralph Bing- 
ham supported 
the suggestion* 
He was so near 
holing out that I should have supposed that 
nothing would have kept him from finishing 
the match, But he agreed heartily. 

" Breakfast/' he said, "is an excellent 
idea* You go along in. Til follow in a 
moment, 1 want to buy a paper/ 1 

We went into the hotel, and a few minutes 
later he joined us. Now that we were 
actually at the table, I confess that the idea 
of breakfast was by no means repugnant to 
me. The keen air and the exercise had given 
me an appetite, and it was some little time 
before I was able to assure the waiter 
definitely that he could cease bringing orders 
of scrambled t-ggs. The others having 



The Long Hole 

finished also, I suggested a move. I was 
anxious to get the match over and be free to 
go home. 

We filed out of the hotel, Arthur Jukes 
leading. When I had passed through the 
swing-doors, I found him gazing perplexedly 
up and down the street. 

" What is the matter ? " I asked. 

" It's gone ! " 

" What has gone ? " 

-i The car ! " 

" Oh, the car ? " said Ralph Bingham. 
" That's all right. Didn't I tell you about 
that ? I bought it just now and engaged the 
driver as my chauffeur. I've been meaning 
to buy a car for a long time. A man ought 
to have a car." 

" Where is it ? " said Arthur, blankly. 
The man seemed dazed. 

"I couldn't tell you to a mile or two," 
replied Ralph. " I told the man to drive to 
Glasgow. Why ? Had you any message 
for him ? " 

1 But my ball was inside it ! " 

" Now that," said Ralph, " is really 
unfortunate ! Do you mean to tell me you 
hadn't managed to get it out yet ? Yes, 
that is a little awkward for you. I'm afraid 
it means that you lose the match." 

" Lose the match ? " 

" Certainly. The rules are perfectly 
definite on that point. A period of five 
minutes is allowed for each stroke. The 
player who fails to make his stroke within 
that time loses the hole. Unfortunate, but 
there it is ! " 

Arthur Jukes sank down on the path and 
buried his face in his hands. He had the 
appearance of a broken man. Once more, 
I am bound to say, I felt a certain pity for 
him. He had certainly struggled gamely, 
and it was hard to be beaten like this on the 

" Playing eleven hundred and one," said 
Ralph Bingham, in his odiously self-satis- 
fied voice, as he addressed his ball. He 
laughed jovially. A messenger-boy had 
paused close by and was watching the pro- 
ceedings gravely. Ralph Bingham patted 
him on the head. 

" Well, sonny," he said, " what club would 
you use here ? " 

" I claim the match ! " cried Arthur Jukes, 
springing up. Ralph Bingham regarded him 

" I beg your pardon ? " 

" I claim the match ! " repeated Arthur 
Jukes. " The rules say that a player who 
asks advice from any person other than his 
caddie shall lose the hole." 

" This is absurd ! " said Ralph, but I 
noticed that he had turned pale. 

14 I appeal to the judges." 

" We sustain the appeal," I said, after a 

brief consultation with Rupert Bailey. " The 
rule is perfectly clear." 

" But you had lost the match already by 
not playing within five minutes," said Ralph, 

" It was not my turn to play. You were 
farther from the pin." 

" Well, play now. Go on ! Let's see you 
make your shot." 

" There is no necessity," said Arthur, 
frigidly. " Why should I play when you 
have already disqualified yourself ? " 

" I claim a draw ! " 

" I deny the claim." 

" I appeal to the judges." 

"Very well. We will leave it to the 

I consulted with Rupert Bailey. It 
seemed to me that Arthur Jukes was entitled 
to the verdict. Rupert, who, though an 
amiable and delightful companion, had 
always been one of Nature's fat-heads, could 
not see it. We had to go back to our 
principals and announce that we had been 
unable to agree. 

' This is ridiculous," said Ralph Bing- 
ham. " We ought to have had a third 

AT this moment, who should come out of 
J-\ the hotel but Amelia Trivett ! A 
veritable goddess from the machine. 

zi It seems to me," I said, " that you 
would both be well advised to leave the 
decision to Miss Trivett. You could have 
no better referee." 

" I'm game," said Arthur Jukes. 

" Suits me/' said Ralph Bingham. 

" Why, what ever are you all doing here 
with your golf-clubs ? " asked the girl, 

" These two gentlemen," I explained, 
" have bfeen playing a match, and a point has 
arisen on which the judges do not find them- 
selves in agreement. We need an unbiased 
outside opinion, and we should like to put 
it up to you. The facts are as follows." 

Amelia Trivett ■ listened attentively, but, 
when - I had finished, she shook her 

" I'm afraid I don't know enough about 
the game to be able to decide a question like 
that," she said. 

* 4 Then we must consult St. Andrews," 
said Rupert Bailey. 

" I'll tell you who might know," said 
Amelia Trivett, after a moment's thought. 

" Who is that ? " I asked. 

" My fianci. He has just come back from 
a golfing holiday. That's why I'm in town 
this morning. I've been to meet him. He 
is very good at golf. He won a medal at 
Little-Mud bury-in-the- Wold the day before 
he left " 

lie ivll. 


P. G> Wodehouse 


1 Why, what evet aie you all doing here with your golf-clubs ? ' asked Amelia, 


There was a tense silence. I had the where Arthur Jukes was standing there came 

delicacy not to look at Ralph or Arthur. a muffled gulp. 

Then the silence was broken by a sharp crack. " Shall I ask him ? NJ said Amelia Trivett. 

Ralph Bingham had broken his mashie- " Don't bother/' said Ralph Bingham, 

niblick across his knee. From the direction ** It doesn't matter/' said Arthur Jukes. 

by Google 

Original from 

I3 2 




* Step/ienleacock^ 

COMING home the other 
night in my car I heard 
a straphanger say, *' The 
drama is just turning 
into a bunch of talk.'* This set 
me thinking ; and I was glad 
that it did. Some days I never 
think from morning till night. 

This decline of the drama is a 
thing on which I feel deeply and 
bitterly, for I am, or I have been, 
something of an actor myself. 
I have only been in amateur work, I admit, 
but still I have played some mighty interest- 
ing parts, I have acted in Shakespeare as 
A Citizen, I have been A Fairy in " A Mid- 
summer Night's Dream," and I was once one 
end of a camel in a pantomime. I have had 
other parts, too, such as A Voice Speaks from 
Within, or A Voice is Heard Without, or 
A Bell Rings from Behind, and a lot of things 
like that. I played as A Noise for seven 
nights before crowded houses ; and I have 
been A Groan and A Sigh and A Tumult, and 
once I %vas A Vision Passes Before the Steeper. 

So when I talk of acting and of the Spirit 
of the Drama, I speak of what I know, 

Naturally, too, I was brought into con* 
tact, very often into quite intimate personal 
contact, with some of the greatest actors of 
the day. 1 don't 
say it ki any 
way of boasting, 
but merely be- 
cause to those of 
us who love the 
stage all dra- 
matic souvenirs 
are interesting. 
I remember, for 
example, that 
when Wilson 
Barrett played 
- The Bat," and 
had to wear the 
queer suit with 
the scales, it was 
I who put the 

" I v/as odcc one 

by Google 

glue on him. And I recall a 
conversation with Sir Henry 
Irving one night when he said 
to me ; "Fetch me a glass of 
water, will you ? " and I ^aid, 
'* Sir Henry, it is not only a 
pleasure to get it, but it is to 
me, as a humble devotee of the 
art that you have ennobled, 
a high privilege. I will go 

"Do," he said. Henry was 
like that, quick, sympathetic, what we call in 
French, vibrant, 

Forbes -Robertson I shall never forget ; he 
owes me half a crown. And as for Martin 
Harvey— 1 simply cannot call him Sir John, 
we are such dear old friends — he never comes 
to town without at once calling in my services 
to lend a hand in his production, No doubt 
everybody knows that splendid play in 
which he appears, called "The Breed of the 
Treshams," There is a torture scene in it, 
a most gruesome thing, Harvey, as the 
hero, has to be tortured, not on the stage 
itself, but tn a little room off the stage. You 
can hear him howling as he is tortured. 
Well, it was I who was torturing him. We 
are so used to working together that Harvey 
didn't want to let anybody do it but me. 

So, naturally, 
I am a keen 
friend and 
student of the 
Drama. And I 
hate to think of 
it going ail to 

The trouble 
with it is that 
it is becoming a 
mere mass of con- 
versation and re- 
flection : nothing 
happens in it r 
the action is all 
going out of it 
end ot a camel. )\~»nd there is 


Stephen Leacock 


nothing left but thought. When actors begin 
to think it is time for a change. They are 
not fitted for it. 

Now, in my day, I mean when I was at the 
apogee of my reputation (1 think that is the 

the pages, "and you brought in a condemned 
cell ? " I told him that I had not, " That's 
rather unfortunate/' he said, ,( because we are 
especially anxious to bring in a condemned 
cell. Three of the big theatres have got 
, then: thk season, and I 
think we ought to have 
it in ; can you do it ? ' J 
* Yes/' I said, " I can, 
if it's wanted; I'll look 
through the cast and no 
doubt I can find one at 
least of them that ought 
to be put to death." 
" Yes, yes/' said the 
manager, enthusiastic - 
allyj " 1 am sure you 

But I think of all 
the settings that we 
used, the Lighthouse 
plays were the best, 
There is something 
about a lighthouse that 
you do not get in a 
modern drawing-room. 
What it is, I don J t 

To know at a glance the Hero, the Villain, the Villaines*, and the 
Heroine was simplicity itself in the Old Drama, but - 

word ; it may be apologee : I forget), things 
were different. What we wanted was action 
— striking, climatic, catastrophic action, in 
which things not only happened but happened 
suddenly and all in a lump. 

And we always took care that the action 
happened in some 
place that was 
worth while, not 
simply in an ordi- 
nary room with 
ordinary f u r n i- 
ture, the way it 
is in the New 
Drama, The scene 
was laid in a 
Lighthouse (top 
storey), or in a 
Mad House (at 
midnight), or in a 
Power House or 
a Dog House or a 
Bath House, in 
short, in some 
place with a dis- 
tinct local colour 
and atmosphere. 

I remember in the case of one of the first 
plays I ever wrote (I write plays too), the 
manager to whom I submitted it said : " What 
are you doing for atmosphere ? " Mi The open- 
ing act/' I said, " is in a steam laundry/ 1 
" Very good," he answered, as he turned over 

know ; but there *s a 


There is something 

about a lighthouse — 
the way you see it in the earlier scenes — -with 
the lantern shining out over the black waters, 
that suggests security, fidelity, faithfulness 
to a trust. The stage used generally to be 
dim in the first part of a lighthouse play, 
and you could see the huddled figures of the 

which is which in the New Drama ? 

fishermen and their wives on the foreshore 
pointing out to the sea (the back of the stage) , 
'* See," one cried, with his arm extended, 
" there is lightning in yon sky * J (I was the 
lightning and that my cue for it) : " God 
help all the poor souls at sea to-night I " 



When the Drama Was Drama 

man staggers into 

Then a woman cried, ** Look ! Look ! a boat 
upon the reef! " And as she said it I had 
to rush round and work the boat to make it 
go up and down properly. Then there was 
more lightning, and someone screamed out, 
" Look ! See ! there's a woman in the boat ! ** 
There wasn't really ; it was me ; but in the 
darkness it was all the same, and, of course, 
the heroine herself 
couldn't be there 
yet because she 
had to be down- 
stairs getti ng 
d ressed to be 
drowned. Then 
they all cried out, 
• ( Poor soul ! She's 
doomed ! " and all 
the fishermen ran 
up and down 
making a noise. 
Fis hermen in 
those plays used 
to get fearfully 
excited ; and with 
the excitement 
and the darkness 
and the bright 
beams of the light- 
house falling on 

the oilskins, and the thundering of the sea 
upon the reef — ah I me, those were the plays ! 
That was acting ! And to think that there 
isn't a single streak of lightning in any play 
on the boards this year ! 

And then the kind of climax that a play 
like this used to have ! The scene shifted 
right at the moment of the excitement, and 
lo ! we are in the tower, the top storey of the 
lighthouse, interior scene. AH is still and 
quiet within, with the bright light of the 
reflectors flooding the little room, and the 
roar of the storm heard like muffled thunder 
outside* The lighthouse -keeper trims his 
lamps, How T firm and quiet and rugged he 
looks. The snows of sixty winters are on his 
head, but his eye is clear and his grip strong. 
Hear the howl of the wind as he opens the 
door, and steps forth upon the iron balcony, 
eighty feet above the water, and peers out 
upon the storm, " God pity all the poor 
souls at sea ! " he says, {They all &ay that ; 
if you get used to it, and get to like it, you 
want to hear it said, no matter how often 
they say it.) The waves rage beneath him ; 
the foaming crest of a wave splashes up 
angrily at him. (I threw it at him, really, 
but the effect was wonderful.) 

And then as he comes in from the storm 
to the still room, the climax breaks. A 
man staggers into the room, in oilskins, 
drenched, wet, breathless \ (They all stag- 
gered in these plays ; and in the New Drama 
they walk, and the effect is feebleness itself.) 


He points to the sea. '* A boat I A boat 
upon the reef ! with a woman in it ! " 

And the lighthouse -keeper knows that it 
is his only daughter — the only one that he 
has — who is being cast to death upon the 
reef. Then comes the dilemma. They want 
him for the life-boat ; no one can take it 
through the surf but him. You know that 

because the other 
man savs so him- 
self. But if he 
goes in the boat 
then the great 
light will go out, 
Un tended it can- 
not live in the 
storm. And if it 
goes out— Ah ! if it 
goes otit ! — ask of 
the angry waves 
and the resound- 
ing rocks what 
to-night's Jong toll 
of death must be 
without the light ? 
I wish you could 
have seen it — you 
who only see the 
plays of to-day— 
the scene when the lighthouse man draws 
himself up, calm and resolute, and says, 
" My place is here ; God's will be done." 
And you know that as he says it and turns 
quietly to his lamps again, the boat is drifting, 
at that very moment, to the rocks. 

44 How did they save her ? " My dear 
sir, if you can ask that question you little 
understand the drama as it was. Save her ? 
No, of course they didn't save her. What we 
wanted in the Old Drama was reality and 
force, no matter how wild and tragic it might 
be + They did not save her, They found 
her the next day, in the concluding scene- 
all that w r as left of her when she was dashed 
upon the rocks. Her ribs were broken. 
Her bottom boards had been smashed in, 
her gunwale was gone — in short, she was a 

The girl ? Oh, yes, certainly they saved 
the girl. That kind of thing was always 
taken care of, You see, just as the light- 
house man said, ** God's will be done/' his 
eye fell on a long coil of rope hanging there. 
Providentially, wasn't it ? But then we 
were not ashamed to use Providence in the 
Old Drama. So he made a noose in it and 
threw it over the balcony and hauled the 
girl up on it, I used to hook her on to it 
every night. 

A rotten play ? Oh, I am sure it must 
have been. But, somehow, those of us who 
were brought up on that sort of thing, still 

sigh fori \-| N |VERSITY OF MICHIGAN 



THE interval 
Acts II. 
and 1 1 1 ♦ 
was an unusually 
long one, and 
the three men 
who sat in the 
stage- box were 
in such harmony 
of mind that 
none of them 
felt the necessity 
for making con- 
versation. The 
piece was a con- ■ ■ 
ventional crook 
play, and each of the three 
had solved the " mystery " 
of the murder before the drop 
fell on the first act. They had 
reached the same solution (and 

The Man Who 





right one), without any great mental effort. 

Fare, the Police Commissioner, had dined 
with George Manfred and Leon Gonsalez (he 
addressed them respectively as 4i Senor 
Fuentes " and M Sefior Mandrelino," and did 
not doubt that they were natives of Spain, 
despite their faultless English), and the party 
had come on to the theatre. 

Mr. Fare frowned as at some unpleasant 
memory, and heard a soft laugh. Looking 
up, he met the dancing eyes of Leon. 

" Why do yon laugh ? ,J he asked, half 
smiling in sympathy. 

"At your thoughts/' replied the calm 

Ji At my thoughts ! " repeated the other, 
startled . 

" Yes/ 1 Leon nodded ; " you were thinking 
of The Four Just Men/ 1 

11 Extraordinary I " exclaimed Fare. " It 
is perfectly true. What is it ? — telepathy ? " 

Gonsalez shook his head. As to Manfred, 
he was gazing abstractedly into the stalls. 

igilized by Google 

" No, it was 
not telepathy/' 
said Leon, " it 
was your facial 

"But I haven't 
those rascals. 

How " 

" Facial ex- 
pression/ 1 said 
Leon, revelling 
in his pet topic, 
" especially an 
expression of the 
emotions, conies 
into the category 
of primitive instincts— 
they are not ' willed/ For 
example, when a billiard player 
strikes a ball he throws and 
twists his body after the ball— you 
must have seen the contortions of a player 
who has missed his shot by a narrow margin ? 
A man using scissors works his jaw — a rower 
moves his lips with every stroke of the oar. 
These are what we call ' automatisms/ 
Animals have these characteristics. A hungry 
dog approaching meat pricks his ears in the 

direction of his meal ** 

" Is there a particular act of automatism 
produced by the thought of The Four Just 
Men ? -" asked the Commissioner, smiling, 
Leon nodded. 

" It would take long to describe, but I will 
not deceive you, I less read than guessed 
your thoughts by following them. The last 
line in the- last act we saw was uttered by a 
ridiculous stage parson, who says : f Justice I 
There is a justice beyond the law ! ' And I 
saw you frown. And then you looked across 
the stalls and nodded to the editor of the 
Megaphone. And I remembered that you 
had written an article on The Four Just 
Men for that journalrrr — '* 


i 3 6 

The Four Just Men 

Leon raised his powerful opera-glassses and surveyed the mart whom his friend had indicated. 

" A little biography on poor Falmouth, 
who died the other day," corrected Fare, 
'* Yes, yes, I see. You were right, of course. 
I was thinking of them and their pretensions 
to act as judges and executioners when the 
law fails to punish the guilty, or rather the 
guilty succeed in avoiding conviction/' 

Manfred turned suddenly. 

" Leon M — he spoke in Spanish, in which 
language the three had been conversing off 
and on during the evening — " view the 
cavalier with the diamond in his shirt — 
what do you make of him ? " The question 
was in English. 

Leon raised his powerful opera-glasses and 
surveyed the man whom his friend had 

qi I should like to hear him speak/ 1 he said, 

after a w r hile. " See how delicate his face 
is and how powerful axe his jaws — almost 
prognathic, for the upper maxilla is distinctly 
arrested. Regard him, Senor, and tell me if 
you do not agree that his eyes are unusually 
bright ? " 

Ma nf red took the glasses and looked at the 
unconscious man. 

i- They arc swollen — yes, I see they are 

1 What else do you see ? " 

'The lips are large and a little swollen* 
too, I think/' said Manfred. 

Leon took the glasses and turned to the 

" I do not bet, but if I did I would wager a 
thousand pesetas that this man speaks with 
a harsh, cracked vsdifeJfTi 


Edgar Wallace 


Fare looked from his companion to the 
object of their scrutiny and then back to 

* 1 should like to hear hi in speak/ he said, aftei a while, 

" You are perfectly right/ 1 he said, quietly. 
ir His name is Ballam, and his voice is ex- 
traordinarily rough and harsh. What is 
he ? M 

" Vicious/' replied Gonsalez, fi My dear 
friend, that man is vicious, a bad man. 
Beware of the bright eyes and the cracked 
voice, Sefior I They stand for evil ! " 

Fare rubbed his nose irritably, a trick of 

" If you were anybody else I should be 
very rude and say that you knew him or had 
met him/ 1 he said, " but after your extraor* 
dinary demonstration the other day I realize 
there must be something in physiognomy." 

He referred to a visit which Leon Gonsalez 
and Manfred had paid to the record depart- 
ment of Scotland Yard, There, with forty 

photographs of criminals spread upon the 
table before him, Gonsalez, taking them in 
order, had enumerated the crimes with which 
their names were associ- 
ated, He only made four 
errors, and even they were 
very excusable/ 1 

" Yes, Gregory Ballam is 
a pretty bad lot/' said the 
Commissioner, thought- 
fully. " He has never been 
through our hands, but 
that is the luck of the 
game. He's as shrewd as 
the devil, and it hurts me 
to see' him with a nice girl 
like Genee Maggiore/' 

" The girl who is sitting 
*ith him ? " asked Man- 
fred, interested. 

"An actress/* mur- 
mured Gonsalez. *' You 
observe, my dear George, 
how she turns her head 
first to the left and then 
to the right at intervals, 
though there is no attrac- 
tion in either direction. 
She has the habit of being 
seen — it is not vanity, ft 
is merely a peculiar symp- 
tom of her profession." 

" What is his favourite 
vanity ? " asked Manfred, 
and the Commissioner 

"You know our Dickens, 
eh ? " he asked, for he 
thought of Manfred as a 
Spaniard . ' f Well, it would 
be difficult to tell you 
what Gregory Ballam does 
to earn his respectable 
income/ 1 he said, more 
seriously, " I think he is 
connected with a money- 
and runs a few profitable 

lender's business 

" Such as ? 

suggested Manfred. 

iWSgK? 5 

Mr. Fare was not, apparently, anxious to 
commit himself. 

" I'll tell you in the strictest confidence/' 
he said. " We believe, and have good cause 
to believe, that he has a hop joint which is 
frequented by wealthy people. Did you 
read last week about the man, John Bid- 
w T orth, who shot a nursemaid in Kensington 
Gardens and then shot himself ? " 

Manfred nodded, 

" He was quite a well-connected person, 
wasn't he ? " he asked. 

" He was very well connected," replied 
Fare, emphatically, ** So well connected 
that we did not ;. wsuat to bring his people into 



The Four Just Men 

the case at all. He died the next day in 
hospital, and the surgeons tell us that he was 
undoubtedly under the influence of some 
Indian drug, and that in his few moments of 
consciousness he as much as told the surgeon 
in charge of the case that he had been on a 
jag the night .before and had finished up in 
what he called an opium house, and remem- 
bered nothing further till he woke up in the 
hospital. He died without knowing that he 
had committed this atrocious crime. There 
is no doubt that under the maddening influ- 
ence of the drug he shot the first person he 

" Was it Mr. Ballam's opium house ? " 
asked Gonsalez, interested. 

The curtain rose at that moment and 
conversation went on in a whisper. 

" We don't know — in his delirium he 
mentioned Ballam's name. We have tried 
our best to find out. He has been watched. 
Places at which he has stayed any length of 
time have been visited, but we have found 
nothing to incriminate him." 

LEON GONSALEZ had a favourite hour 
and a favourite meal at which he was at 
his brightest. That hour was at nine 
o'clock in the morning, and the meal was 
breakfast. He put down his paper the next 
morning and asked : — 

"What is crime ? " 

" Professor," said Manfred, solemnly, " I 
will tell you. It is the departure from the 
set rules which govern human society." 

" You are conventional," said Gonsalez. 
" My dear George, you are always conven- 
tional at nine o'clock in the morning ! Now, 
had I asked you at midnight you would have 
told me that it is any act which wilfully 
offends and discomforts your neighbour. If 
I desired to give it a narrow, and what they 
call in this country a legal, interpretation, I 
would add, ' contrary to the law.' There 
must be ten thousand crimes committed for 
every one detected. People associate crime 
only with those offences which are committed 
by a certain type of illiterate or semi- 
illiterate lunatic or half-lurfatic, glibly dubbed 
a ' criminal.' Now, here is a villainous 
crime, a monumental crime. Here is a man 
who is destroying the souls of youth and 
breaking hearts ruthlessly ! Here is one who 
is dragging down men and women from the 
upward road and debasing them in their ow$ 
eyes, slaying ambition and all beauty of 
soul and mind in order that he should live 
in a certain comfort, wearing a clean dress 
shirt every evening of his life and drinking 
expensive and unnecessary wines with his 
expensive and indigestible dinner." 

41 Where is this man ? " asked Manfred. 

" He lives at 993, Jermyn Street — in fact, 
he is a neighbour," said Leon. 

" You're speaking of Mr. Ballam ? " 

"I'm speaking- of Mr. Ballam," said 
Gonsalez, gravely. " To-night I am going 
to be a foreign artist with large rolls of money 
in my pockets and an irresistible desire to 
be amused. I do not doubt that sooner or 
later Mr. Ballam and I will gravitate together. 
Do I look like a detective, George ? " he 
asked, abruptly. 

" You look more like a successful pianist," 
said George, and Gonsalez sniffed. 

" You can even be offensive at nine o'clock 
in the morning," he said. 

There are two risks which criminals face 
(with due respect to the opinions of Leon 
Gonsalez, this word criminal is employed by 
the narrator) in the pursuit of easy wealth. 
There is the risk of detection and punishment, 
which applies to the big as well as to the little 
delinquent. There is the risk of losing large 
sums of money invested for the purpose of 
securing even larger sums. The criminal 
who puts money in his business runs -the 
least risk of detection. That is why only 
the poor and foolish come stumbling up the 
stairs which lead to the dock at the Old 
Bailey, and that is why the big men, who 
would be indignant at the very suggestion 
that they were in the category of law- 
breakers, seldom or never make their little 
bow to the judge. 

Mr. Gregory Ballam stood for and repre- 
sented certain moneyed interests which had 
purchased at auction three houses in Mon- 
tagu Street, Portland Place. They were 
three houses which occupied an island site. 
The first of these was let out in offices, the 
ground floor being occupied by a lawyer, the 
first floor by a wine and spirit merchant, the 
third being a very plain suite, dedicated to 
the business hours of Mr. Gregory Ballam. 
This gentleman also rented the cellar, which, 
by the aid of lime-wash and distemper, 
had been converted into, if not a pleasant, 
at any rate a neat and cleanly storage place. 
Through this cellar you could reach (amongst 
other places) a brand-new garage, which had 
been built for one of Mr. Ballam's partners, 
but in which Mr. Ballam was not interested 
at all. 

None but the workmen who had been 
employed in renovation knew that it was 
possible also to walk from one house to the 
other, either through the door in the cellar,' 
which had existed when the houses were 
purchased, or through a new door in Mr. 
Ballam's office. 

The third house, that at the end of the 
island site, was occupied by the International 
Artists' Club, and the police had never 
followed Mr. Ballam there, because Mr. 
Ballam had never gone there, at least not 
by the front door. The Artists' Club had a 
"rest room." and there were times when 


Edgar Wallace 


Mr* Ballam had appeared, as if by magic, 
in that room, had met a select little party, 
and had conducted them through a well- 
concealed pass-door to the ground floor of the 
middle house. The middle house %vas the 
most respectable-looking of the three* It 
had neat muslin curtains 
at all its windows, and 
was occupied by a vener- 
able gentleman and his 

The venerable gentle- 
man made a practice of 
going out to business 
every morning at ten 
o'clock, his shiny silk 
hat set jauntily on the 
side of his head, a furled 
umbrella under his arm, 
and a button-hole in his 
coat, The police knew 
him by sight, and local 
constables touched their 
helmets to him* In the 
days gone by, when Mr. 
Raymond, as he called 
himself, had a luxurious 
white beard and 
earned an elegant 
income by writing 
begging letters and 
interviewing credu- 
lous and sympa- 
thetic females, he 
did not have that 
name or the reputation 
which he enjoyed in 
Montagu Street. But 
now he was clean-shaven 
and had the appearance 
of a retired admiral, and 
he received ^4 a week 
for going out of the 
house every morning at 
ten o'clock, with his silk 
hat set at a rakish angle, 
and his furled umbrella 
and his neat little bouton- 
nib?e* He spent most of 
the day in the Guildhall 
reading-room, and came 
back at rive o'clock in 
the evening as jaunty as 

And his day's work 
being ended, he and his 
hard-faced wife went to 
their little attic room 
and played cribhage, and 
their language was certainly jaunty, but was 
not venerable. 

On the first floor, behind triple black velvet 
curtains, men and women smoked day and 
night. It was a large room, being two rooms 

#*«0#f^r f >r ? / — 

"* The venerable gentleman made a 
pretence of going out to business 
every morning at len o'clock, his 
shiny silk hat set jauntily on the 
side of his head," 

which had been converted into one, and it had 
been decorated under Mr. Bal lam's eye. In 
this room nothing but opium was smoked. 
If you had a fancy for hashish you indulged 
yourself in a basement apartment. Some* 
times Mr. Ballam himself came to take a 
whirl of the dream- 
herb, but he usually 
reserved these visits for 
such occasions as the 
introduction of a new 
and profitable client. 
The pipe had no ill- 
effect upon Mr. Ballam. 
That was his boast. He 
boasted now to a new 
client, a rich Spanish 
artist, who had been 
picked up by one of his 
jackals and piloted to 
the International Artists* 

" Nor on me," said 
the newcomer, waving 
away a yellow - faced 
Chinaman who minis- 
tered to the needs of 
the smokers. " I always 
bring my own smoke/* 

Ballam leant forward 
curiously as the man 
took a silver box from 
his pocket and produced 
therefrom a green and 
sticky-looking pill. 

n What is that ? " 
asked Ballam, curiously, 
" It is a mixture of 
my own, canabts indica, 
opium and a little 
Turkish tobacco mixed. 
It is even milder than 
opium, and the result 
infinitely more wonder- 

" You can't smoke it 
here, " said Ballam, shak- 
ing his head* 4 ! Try the 
pipe, old man.*' 

But the " old man " 
— he was really young in 
spite of his grey hair — 
was emphatic. 

u It doesn't matter," 
he said, H I can smoke 
at home* I only came 
out of curiosity/' and 
he rose to go, 

" Don't be in a hurry," 
said Ballam, hastily. *' See here, we've got 
a basement down stairs where the hemp 
pipes go— the smokers up here don't like 
the smell — I'll come down and try one with 
you. Bring your coflec. " 



The Four Just Men 

The basement was empty, and, selecting a 
comfortable divan, Mr. Ballam and his guest 
sat down. 

" You can light this with a match ; you 
don't want a spirit stove," said the stranger. 

Ballam, sipping his coffee, looked dubiously 
at the pipe which Gonsalez offered. 

" There was a question I was going to ask 
you," said Leon. " Does running a show 
like this keep you awake at nights ? " 

" Don't be silly," said Mr. Ballam, lighting 
his pipe slowly and puffing with evident 
enjoyment. " This isn't bad stuff at all. 
Keep me. awake at nights ? Why should 
it? " 

" Well," answered Leon. " Lots of people 
go queer here, don't they ? I mean it 
ruins people, smoking this kind of stuff." 

" That's their look-out," said Mr. Ballam, 
comfortably. "They get a lot of fun. 
There's only one life, and you've got to die 

" Some men die twice," said Leon, soberly. 
" Some men who, under the influence of a 
noxious drug, go fantee and wake to find 
themselves murderers. There's a drug in the 
East which the natives call bal. It turns 
men into raving lunatics." 

" Well, that doesn't interest me," said 
Ballam, impatiently. " We must hurry up 
with this smoke. I've a lady coming to see 
me. Must keep an appointment, old man," 
he laughed. 

," On the contrary, the introduction of this 
drugt into a pipe interests you very much," 
said Leon, " and in spite of Miss Maggiore's 
appointment " 

The other started. 

" What the deuce are you talking about ? " 
he asked, crossly. 

" In spite of that appointment I must 
break the news to you that the drug which 
turns men into senseless beasts is more 
potent than any you serve in this den." 

" What's it to do with me ? " snarled 

" It interests you a great deal," said Leon, 
coolly, " because you are at this moment 
smoking a double dose ! " 

WITH a howl of rage Ballam sprang to 
his feet, and what happened after that 
he could not remember. Only some- 
thing seemed to split in his head, and a blind- 
ing light flashed before his eyes, and then a 
whole century of time went past, a thousand 
years of moving time and an eternity of 
flashing lights, of thunderous noises, of 
whispering voices, of ceaseless troubled move- 
ment. Sometimes he knew he was talking, 
and listened eagerly to hear what he himself 
had to say. Sometimes people spoke to him 
and mocked him, and he had a consciousness 
that he was being chased by somebody. 

How long this went on he could not judge. 
In his half-bemused condition he tried to 
reckon time, but found he had no standard 
of measurement. It seemed years after 
that he opened his eyes with a groan, and put 
his hand to his aching head. He was lying 
in bed. It was a hard bed, and the pillow 
was even harder. He stared up a.t the white- 
washed ceiling and looked round at the plain, 
distempered walls. Then he peered over 
the side of the bed and saw that the floor was 
of concrete. Two lights were burning, one 
above a table and one in a corner of the room, 
where a man was sitting reading a newspaper. 
He was a curious-looking man, and Ballam 
blinked at him. 

" I am dreaming," he said aloud, and the 
man looked up. 

" Hallo ! Do you want to get up ? " 

Ballam did not reply. He was still staring, 
his mouth agape. The man was in uniform, 
in a dark, tight-fitting uniform. He wore a 
cap on his head and a badge. Round his 
waist was a shiny black belt, and then 
Ballam read the letters on the shoulder-strap 
of the tunic. 

M A. W.," he repeated, dazed. ■" A. W." 

What did " A. W." stand for ? And then 
the truth flashed on him. 

Assistant Warder ! He glared round the 
room. There was one window, heavily 
barred and covered with thick glass. On 
the wall was pasted a sheet of printed paper. 
He staggered out of bed and read ; still 
open-mouthed : — 

" Regulations For His Majesty's 

He looked down at himself. He had 
evidently gone to bed with his breeches and 
stockings on, and his breeches were of coarse 
yellow material and branded with faded 
black arrows. He was in prison ! How long 
had he been there ? 

" Are you going to behave to-day ? " 
asked the warder, curtly. " We don't want 
any more of those scenes you gave us yester- 
day ! " 

" How long have I been here ? " croaked 

" You know how long you've been here. 
You've been here three weeks yesterday." 

'' Three weeks • " gasped Ballam. " What 
is the charge ? " 

" Now, don't come that game with me, 
Ballam," said the warder, not unkindly. 
" You know I'm not allowed to have con- 
versations with you. Go back and sleep. 
Sometimes I think you are as mad as you 
profess to be." 

*' Have I been — bad ? " asked Ballam. 

" Bad ? " The warder jerked up his 
head. " I wasn't in the court with you, but 


Edgar Wallace 


With a howl of rage Ball am sprang to his feel, and what happened after that he 

could not remember." 

they say you behaved in the dock like a man 
demented, and when the judge was passing 
sentence of death " 

" My God 1 ' 
back on the 
" Sentenced to 
form the words. 

ri You killed 
that/' said the 

shrieked Ballam, and feJl 
bed, white and haggard, 
death I " He could hardly 

" What have I done ? " 
a young lady, you know 
warder. " I'm surprised at 
you, trying to tome it over me after the good 
friend I've been to you, Ballam. Why don't 
you buck up and take your punishment like 
a man ? " 

There was a calendar above the place 
where the warder had been sitting. 

" Twelfth of April/' read Ballam, and 
could have shrieked again, for it was the 
first day of March when he met that myste- 

: that 1 


rious stranger. He remembered it all now\ 
Bal I The drug that drove men mad* 

He sprang to his feet; 

" I want to see the Governor ! I want to 
tell them the truth ! I've been drugged ! " 

" Now you've told us all that story before/' 
said the warder, with an air of resignation, 
" When you killed the young lady " 

4i What young lady ? " shrieked Ballam. 
" Not Maggiore ! Don't tell me -" 

41 You know you killed her right enough/* 
said the warder. " What's the good of 
making all this fuss ? Now go back to bed, 
Ballam. You can't do any good by kicking 
up a shindy this night of all nights in the 

" I want to see the Governor ! Can I 
write to hiiirifcjlfial from 


I 4 2 

The Four Just Men 

" You can write to him if you like," and 
the warder indicated the table. 

Ballam staggered up to the table and sat 
down shakily in a chair. There were half-a- 
dozen sheets of blue notepaper headed in 
black : " H.M. Prison, Wandsworth, S.W." 

HE was in Wandsworth Prison 1 He 
looked round the cell. It did not look 
like a cell, and yet it did. It was so 
horribly bare, and the door was heavy- 
looking. He had never been in a cell before, 
and of course it was different to what he 
had expected. 

A thought struck him. 

" When — when am I to be punished ? " 
he said, chokingly. 

" To-morrow." 

The word fell like a sentence of doom and 
the man fell forward, his head upon his 
arms, and wept hysterically. Then of a 
sudden he began to write with feverish haste, 
his face red with weeping. 

His letter was incoherent. It was about a 
man who had come to the club and had 
given him a drug, and then he had spent a 
whole eternity in darkness, seeing lights and 
being chased by people and hearing whisper- 
ing voices. And he was not guilty. He 
loved Genee Maggiore. He would not have 
hurt a hair of her head. 

He stopped here to weep again. Perhaps 
he was dreaming ? Perhaps he was under 
the influence of this drug. He dashed his 
knuckles against the wail, and the shock 
made him wince. 

" Here, none of that!" said the warder, 
sternly. " You get back to bed." 

Ballam looked at his bleeding knuckles. 
It was true ! It was no dream ! It was 
true, true ! 

He lay on the bed and lost consciousness 
again, and when he awoke the warder was 
still sitting in his place reading. He seemed 
to doze again for an hour, although in reality 
it was only for a few minutes, and every 
time he woke something within him said : 
*' This morning you die ! " 

Once he sprang shrieking from the bed and 
had to be thrown back. 

" If you give me any more trouble I'll get 
another officer in and we'll tie you down. 
Why don't you take it like a man ? It's no 
worse for you than it was for her," said the 
warder, savagely. 

After that he lay still, and he was falling 
into what seemed a longer sleep when the 
warder touched him. When he awoke he 
found his own clothes laid neatly by the 
side of the bed upon a chair, and he dressed 
himself hurriedly. 

He looked round for something. 

" Where's the collar ? " he asked, tremb- 

" You don't need a collar." The warder's 
voice had a certain quality of sardonic 

Ballam swooned back on the bed. 

" Pull yourself together! " said the man, 
roughly. " Other people have gone through 
this. From what I've heard you ran an 
opium den. A good many of your clients 
gave us a visit. They had to go through 
with it, and so must you." 

Ballam waited, sitting on the edge of the 
bed, his face in his hands, and then the door 
opened and a man came in. He was a slight 
man with a red beard and a mop of red hair. 

The warder swung the prisoner round. 

" Put your hands behind you," he said, and 
Ballam sweated as he felt the strap grip his 

Then the light was extinguished. A cap 
was drawn over his face and he thought he 
heard voices behind him. He wasn't fit to die, 
he knew that. There always was a parson in 
a case like this. Someone grasped his arm 
on either side and he walked slowly forward 
through the door, across a yard, and through 
another door. It was a long way, and once 
his knees gave under him, but he stood erect. 
Presently they stopped. 

" Stand where you are," said a voice, and 
he found a noose slipped round his neck, 
and waited, waited in etgony, minutes, hours 
it seemed. He took no account of time and 
could not judge it. Then he heard a heavy 
step and somebody caught him by the arm. 

" What are you doing here, governor ? " 
said a voice. 

The cap was pulled from his head. He 
was in the street. It was night, and he stood 
under the light of a street-lamp. The man 
regarding him curiously was a policeman. 

" Got a bit of rope round your neck, too. 
Somebody tied your hands. What is it — a 
hold-up case ? " said the policeman, as he 
loosened the straps, " or is it a lark ? I'm 
surprised at you, an old gentleman like you, 
with white hair ! " 

Gregory Ballam's hair had been black less 
than seven hours before, when Leon Gonsalez 
had drugged his coffee and had brought him 
through the basement exit into the big yard 
at the back of the club. 

For here was a nice new garage, as Leon 
had discovered when he prospected the 
place, and here they were left uninterrupted 
to play the comedy of the condemned cell, 
with blue sheets of prison note-paper, put 
there for the occasion, and a copy of Prison 
Regulations, which was donated quite un- 
wittingly by Mr. Fare, Commissioner of 

Next Month: "The Man Who Hated Amelia ^<pf p^ 






was gliding rapidly in his 
two-seater along neatly- 
hedged country roads, on 
his way to help 
shoot the part- 
ridges of his friend, 
Colonel Hill yen 

Although ho 
loved sport and 
the day was fine ; 
although the Hill- 
yer preserves are 
among the best, 
even in Norfolk ; in spite of his 
own robust health and freedom 
from financial anxiety , his brow 
was nevertheless knit, and his 
expression as he whizzed along 
was uneasy and resentful. Like most 
of us, he had his troubles ; conspicuously 
the fact of having been born sole child 
and heir of a father who made a fortune in 
malt, and owed his baronetcy to having been 
thrice Mayor of Nordigate. 

It may be conceded that he took the 
situation too seriously. Certainly it was 
annoying that his mother had doomed him 
to pass through life under the brand of 
Algernon, no second name offering him any 
loophole of escape. He felt that a man who 
had to stand up to this was already sufficiently 
handicapped- But the real trouble bit 
deeper. It lay in his eligibility. 

From the time lie was seventeen (when he 
had a narrow escape from the family of a 
country parson with seven daughters) he had 
set himself to avoid the gins, traps, pitfalls, 
and snares of designing flappers, manoeuvring 
VoL IjttL— 10. 


\ / 



mothers, and resolute young 
women who thought the old 
plan ot leaving it to the man to 
propose obsolete, and said so + 
He tried London, 
he tried the country. 
At the age of twenty - 
one he tried the war, 
and found it worse 
than either. He 
tried shutting him- 
self up on his own 
estates, he tried 
going round the 
world. Nothing made any dif- 
ference. He never outran the 
untiring huntresses. 

It is perhaps not altogether to 
be wondered at if his view of life 
and women had grown completely 
distorted. By the time he was ap- 
proaching thirty he believed that any 
woman who entered into conversation with 
him did so with the object of marrying him 
if she could ; a notion which made him a 
trifle ridiculous. 

Jack Hillyer, the man of whom he saw 
the most, had an unmarried sister. She had 
just become engaged to a Captain Harding, 
much to the relief of the preposterous 
Algernon, who was persuaded that this had 
happened only when she was quite certain 
that he was not to be had, 

It was delightful to think of being able to 
go as often as he liked to Hillyers Down 
without awakening false hopes ; in fact he 
felt so reassured that about a fortnight pre- 
viously he had motored himself over to tea in 
order that h*z might offer his congratulations, 


M4 The Man With No Sense of Humour 

How was he to know that there would be 
another girl there — a stranger — quite unlike 
in type to the bonny, downright Janet ? A 
girl with long, subtle, heavily-fringed eyes, 
and something in her shape and movements, 
also in her fanciful attire, which was quite 
unlike anything he had yet met in the way 
of a siren ; and which, in fact, seemed to 
him almost improper. 

She was staying with the Hillyers, being 
related to Janet's future family ; and was 
introduced to him as Miss Bellarmine. 

The drawing-room was full of people, 
several other unmarried men being present. 
Why, then, must Miss Bellarmine needs carry 
her cup of tea and cigarette over to where 
he stood and enter into conversation with 
him ? Just as though he had offered her 
the glad eye ! He felt himself constrained 
to be so curt and unresponsive as to seem 

She had not lingered long at his side. In 
a very few minutes she seemed to divine 
that, as he put it to himself, there was 
'* nothing doing." She soon floated away 
to join the laughter and banter of a group at 
the window, and he was left to himself 

What was so annoying about it was that 
he had not felt pleased when she went away, 
and that he had been unable to get her out 
of his mind. 

He had encountered her a good many 
times since, for in these days one can't 
escape the women, go where one may ; and 
each time he knew that secretly he wanted to 
talk to her again, only somehow she always 
eluded him. 

Moreover, there was a consideration which 
would force itself upon him of late, and which 
needed careful weighing, the thought that he 
was nearing thirty and ought to be settling 
down. He caught himself in the very act 
of reflecting that, since the long hunt must 
inevitably terminate in his capture sooner or 
later, he would rather be captured by Miss 
Bellarmine than by anything feminine which 
had, so far, angled for him. 

SHE was fairly certain to be present at 
to-day's shoot. Jack's father, Colonel 
Hillyer, had built a charming little 
lodge among his beech-woods — a place with 
windows and doors, soundly floored, well 
stocked with crockery and cutlery, so that 
one could always count upon a real good 
lunch, with one's legs under a solid mahogany 

. . . M'yes. But thin^ of being con- 
strained to sit, in these romantic surroundings, 
side by side with a siren who could charm 
the very birds off the boughs ? The outlook 
was actually perilous. No wonder Sir Alger- 
non's brows were knit. 

Such were the thoughts occupying his 
mind as he rounded a corner a bit too 
swiftly, and had to jam his break on hard to 
avoid collision with a cycle and side-car, 
drawn right across the lane. 

In this side-car sat the lady who so in- 
trusively filled the baronet's thoughts. She 
looked a trifle disturbed, and on the ground 
crouched Jack Hillyer, with an array of tools 
spread out upon an oily rag in the dust, and 
his good-humoured countenance disfigured 
by certain smears transferred thence from 
his grimy paws. 

" Tyrrell, by Jove ! " he cried, rising to 
his feet with a bound. " You've come in the 
nick of time." He approached the cornered 
Algernon. " I'll just transfer Miss Bellar- 
mine from my car to yours. She's a bit 
shaken up — a brute of a motor-cyclist barged 
right into us, and up to now I haven't made 
out what the damage is exactly. So I don't 
know how long it will be before I can start 
the kettle again, and even when I can, I 
doubt if she'd trust herself to it.' 

He was taking consent wholly for granted, 
and began to unbutton the apron and hand 
out the lady, while Tyrrell was saying, in 
anything but cordial tones : — 

" Delighted, of course, and all that, but 
hadn't I better wait and help you ? Miss 
Bellarmine won't b^ comfortable in this 
little concern — it's a racer, you know, 
Hillyer " 

" Yes, yes, I know, not really comfy, but 
all right for half an hour. Any port in a 
storm — you'll put up with it — and with him 
— won't you ? " he demanded of the lady, 
with a grin, ' that is, if he's on his best 

The passenger seemed fully to share his 
conviction that there could be no doubt of 
Sir Algernon's willingness to convey her. 
She got into the car without further parley, 
and sat down beside him as coolly as if he 
had been her maiden aunt. 

" Now, then," said Jack, fastening the 
apron, ** give Algie his orders. Where was 
it you had to go for mother ? " 

Miss Bellarmine turned to her new 
chauffeur, and said : ' Do you know Holt 
End Farm ? " 

She spoke without a smile, and almost as 
though the county eligible were hired to 
drive her ; and her indifference gave him a 

" Yes," he replied, without looking at her, 
' I know it. Why ? " 

" I have to stop there, please, to pick up a 
basket of butter and things for Mrs. Hillyer." 

" But it's — it's out of our way— con- 
siderably — seven miles, I should think " 

She looked up at him in a kind of vague 
bewilderment. OfhA re y cu short of petrol ? M 
she asked, in surprised disapproval. 
I'rflVtKjFu Ur MILnTbrtN 

Mrs. Baillie Reynolds 


" Give you a fill-up if you are," said Jack, 
cheerfully, preparing to unscrew his can. 

" Stop it, man ; I've heaps of petrol — but 
this will make me late at the Lodge." 

" Well, then, stand not upon the order of 
your going, but go at once/' retorted Jack, 
standing back with a wave of his black hand. 
Nothing was left to Tyrrell but to commend 
his soul to the saints who guard celibacy, 
and start up his engine. 

His whole being was in arms — the more so 
because of that inward weakening of which 
he was so alarmingly conscious. He deter- 
mined that he would offer no amenities — he 
would do nothing himself to bring down the 
toppling ruin which for the first time he felt 
as a contingency to be seriously reckoned 

ACCORDINGLY, they ran a couple of 
j£^ miles without a word spoken, and 
with, on her side, apparently no desire 
to break the silence. This he imagined to be 
a new plan of campaign. There was some- 
thing in the nature of a thrill about that 
silence ; something he must break into and 
disperse. He, therefore, turned to her with 
a by no means agreeable expression, and 
inquired — " Nervous ? " 

" Nervous ? Oh, no," said the lady, coolly. 
" You are not as bad as that. Except that 
you change gear too abruptly, I should not 
call you such a bad driver." 

The man was so astonished he could hardly 
speak. Not thus had he been previously 
wooed ! He actually felt himself change 
colour as he remarked, sardonically : — 

" Great judge of car-driving — what ? " 

" I don't say that ; but I have had con- 
siderable experience. I drove General Braid- 
wood during the war." 

Worse and worse ! " Perhaps " — with 
deadly sarcasm — " you and I had better 
change places." 

" No, thanks. You know where we are 
going — I don't. Besides, I don't care to 
drive these belt-running concerns — Oh, I 
beg your pardon, I don't suppose this thing 
does run with a belt, does it ? " 

In his fury he could hardly bring out the 
crushing retort : " This happens to be a 
Crane-Hylton racer." 

" Oh, is it ? I have always wanted to try 
one. I was told they were wonderfully 
comfortable for the size. I don't think I 
agree. It may be the bad roads " 

" Or the bad driving." 

" Perhaps. You take your corners too 
fast, don't you ? The evil result of running 
about constantly in a district where there's 
very little traffic." 

" How fortunate I have you on board ! 
You can give me a lesson as we go." 

She uttered a soft little chuckle. " Men 

often want a lesson, but very seldom take it 
— from a girl," she remarked. 

That stung him to what the servants call 
" back-answer." 

" I find most girls very ready to offer me 
all kinds of assistance." 

" Do you really ? Men very scarce here- 
abouts, I suppose ? " 

" I fear they are. like the birds last 
season, scarce and shy." 

" Oh, dear, what a depressing outlook for 
me ! At least, your tone implies that I shall 
have poor sport ! " 

" Please don't attribute any such social 
enormity to me." 

She smiled. " That's not so bad. I didn't 
expect it of you." 

" What do you mean ? " 

" Well, it almost sounded as if, somewhere 
about you, carefully concealed, you kept a 
sense of humour; and I have repeatedly 
been assured that you have none." 

He was enraged, as everyone always is 
by this particular taunt, " Indeed ? May I 
ask who told you that ? " 

" Who ? I can't say. Everybody. A 
unanimous consensus of opinion. Besides, 
I could see for myself " 

" I like that ! We haven't exchanged 
much repartee up to now." 

" Oh, but the first time we met I could 
hardly help noticing how everybody cold- 
shouldered you. I felt so sorry for you that 
I made a noble relief expedition, all on my 
own, and, by the way you received it, I 
knew the sad legend to be the still sadder 

" Your penetration is indeed alarming," 
he said, bitterly, " and it will be interesting 
to pursue the subject, but here we are at the 
Farm. Shall I go up and ask for the basket, 
or will you ? " 

" Oh, please, I think I will. I'm a little 
afraid to be left alone with a Crane-Hylton 
racer. It might bite." 

" With you, it would be likely to come off 
second in that line." 

As she ran up the avenue, she burst into 
hearty laughter. " Oh, I do believe you've 
been maligned," she cried. 

She was still laughing as she returned, after 
what seemed to him a long interval, walking 
down the crunchy gravel cart-road from the 
farmhouse with that wonderful swing and 
lilting motion which seemed to him unique. 
The fresh breeze had warmed her cheeks to 
rose, her eyes glittered under their heavy 
lashes. She was a sight to make a man's 
heart beat ; and under all his nonsense 
Tyrrell was a man, right enough. 

She was soon tucked in again, and they 
sped on. Tyrrell found himself displaying 
his choicest driving, his subtlest curves. 
Presently her voice roused him. 
UNlVtKbl m Ur MILrlKjMN 


The Man With No Sense of Humour 

" I suppose your wife doesn't care for 
motoring ? " 

" My wife ! Good Lord, I'm not married ! " 

" Oh, sorry, sorry 1 But marriage isn't a 
crime '* 

" But surely you know who I am ? " 

" Don't tell me I've dropped a brick ! 
Are you somebody special ? Our member 
of Parliament, for example ? I only know 
you're the man with no sense of 
humour! I n$yer hear names when 
I'm introduced." 

" My name's Tyrrell, and I own a 
place called Thurning Towers/ 1 He 
could not keep the pomp out of his 
voice. It had less than no effect. 

** Oh, what a mercy ! Not a name I 
ought to have known* Is — is it a nice 
place, yours ? " 

" Not hall bad. One of these show 
places, you know. Belonged to the 
Tudors, or the Nevilles, 
or somebody/' 

" And what are you 
doing there ? " 

1 My father bought it. 

I say — it's really worth seeing. You'll have to 
come over with the Hillyers, and have lunch, 
and look at the oak carving and stuff." 

" Oh t thanks, awfully, but I'm afraid it 
would be wasted on me. I'm not a con- 
noisseur. Besides, I'm only here for a few 
days, and I believe they are all filled. Good 
of you, all the same. Oh— there is Mr. 
Hillyer I Have we arrived already ? " 

Original from 
He rounded a corner a bit too ^wiftl^f | i^p^^-^h^i^-^cp-! p^if| ^I^f|--^i|^k^ on hard 

Mrs. Baillie Reynolds 


It seemed that they had ; and Tyrrell 
knew he was not pleased that the drive was 
at an end, though the conversation had, to 
put it mildly, not been brilliant. Next 
moment Miss Bellarrnine was surrounded by 
an animated group, all laughing and talking 
at once. For the first time it dawned upon 
Tyrrell that he was so completely outside 
the ring that most of the allusions were 
incomprehensible to him. Jack was there, 
he having, so he said, discovered what was 
wrong with the old bus almost the 
moment after his lady had deserted 

From that moment the disturbed 
and flustered owner of the Crane- 
Hyiton was nowhere. Una Bellar- 
rnine forgot, as it seemed, his very 

Original from 
to avoid collision with a cycle and side-car, drawn i^hr-^^W|fthe|,l^p f ^^ 


The Man With No Sense of Humour 

existence, in the silly jests and empty chatter 
of that wild crew who had so successfully 
cooked his goose by pointing him out to 
her by the damning label of the man with 
no sense of humour. 

At lunch they were separated by the whole 
length of the table ; and after lunch she 
seemed to vanish from the scene. 

In consequence of his unusual state of 
mind, he had a disappointing day's sport. 
When they all reassembled for a late tea, he 
was in anything but a good humour ; and 
still the lady of whom he thought did not 

Presently the cry was raised — " Where's 
Una Bellarmine ? " 

There was some laughter at this, and the 
reply — "'Where do you suppose ? Some- 
where with Fosslake." 

There seemed to be a comprehending 
smile on many faces. " That's a case, isn't 
it ? " asked Janet of Captain Harding. 

" Fosslake ? Oh, yes. I don't think it's a 
secret," replied her fianci, " He has wanted 
to marry her for two years, but she doesn't 
seem able to make up her mind." 

" € She's so sought after, I imagine that 
makes her hard to please," remarked an 
elderly lady, " but I should have thought a 
Viscount might satisfy her." 

" And Fosslake's quite a good sort, into 
the bargain," said Harding. 

VERY shortly after the truants reap- 
peared, sauntering along the woodland- 
alley. Lord Fosslake was evidently 
much absorbed in his companion, but his 
demeanour was not that of a newly- 
successful lover ; and the hungry -hearted 
Tyrrell, scanning her narrowly, thought she 
seemed to be listening to him willingly 
enough, but not with much enthusiasm. 

Was it a settled thing ? Had she at last 
listened to the pleading of the man who for 
two years had wished to marry her ? He 
was inclined to think that the die was not 
yet cast. But, whatever she thought about 
his lordship, there was no doubt as to her 
complete indifference to himself. 

Tyrrell's whole manhood surged up im- 
perious. He was not going to be ignored. 
He bided his time, and managed to be at her 
elbow when the move for departure began to 
be made. Then he cornered her. 

" Feel inclined to trust yourself again in 
the racer ? " he asked. " That thing of 
Jack's is precious shaky." 

For a moment she looked at him as one 
who recalls a chance acquaintance with 
difficulty. Then she smiled very kindly. 

" Why, this is coals of fire ! And not only 
did I bore you stiff, but I took you seven 
miles out of your way." 

" My way is yours," said Tyrrell, bluntly. 

" If you put it like that, I won't refuse," 
she answered, after a moment's surprised 
hesitation. He could have sworn that she 
coloured slightly. 

A few minutes later he found himself 
beside her once more, rushing through the 
lovely sunset landscape. 

" Why shouldn't we just go round by my 
place ? " said he presently, speaking, in his 
earnestness, in his natural voice, which was 
remarkably pleasant. "It wouldn't take 
very long, and you say you will have no 
other chance to see it. I would like to show 
it to you." 

She raised her eyes to his and he encoun- 
tered a look he could not translate — a look of 
pity or hesitation. Then she said : ,4 Yes, 
if you like — on such an evening it will be 
looking its best." 

" Good," said he, in much satisfaction. 

Soon they turned in at the lodge gates of 
Thurning, and the fine grey outline of the 
old Tudor manor, with its gables and drip- 
stones and oriel windows, arose before them, 
the panes of the windows lit like torches by 
the reflected sunset. He could see that 
Miss Bellarmine was impressed. 

They stopped before the open door, and 
one of his numerous staff came down the 

" You're coming in for a few moments, 
just to see the hall and gallery ? " he asked, 
quite humbly. 

She assented, rather to his surprise, and 
greatly to his exultation. Side by side they 
entered, and wandered through the show 
parts of the fine old place. 

" There are things here which I could wish 
to have altered," said Sir Algernon, " but 
as my father did it all — with the money he 
earned by his own hard work — I am loth to 
disturb anything." 

" That's right— that's fine," said she, 

They drifted out presently into the ter- 
raced garden, to see how fine a view one had 
of the south front from the rosary. The 
woods behind them were full of the cooing of 
doves, and as they sat down upon a stone 
bench there was a magical quality in the 
sunset, as though the very air were per- 
meated with molten gold. 

" 1 wonder if it's true," said Tyrrell, " that 
the greatest things people do, they do un- 
consciously — without intending to do them, 
but simply because, they .being what they 
are, it comes natural ? " 

" I — I don't think I quite understand." 

" I feel I have got to tell you what you 
have done to-day without in the least in- 
tending it. You have saved a man, body 
and soul, from the quicksand of fatuous 
idiocy into which he was comfortably 



Mrs. Baillie Reynolds 


She drew in her breath sharply, making as 
if to rise. " Oh — don't I " she cried, and of 
course he persisted the more, detaining her 
resolutely where she was. 

" I must make you understand. I'm a 
selfish, aimless hound. I go about thinking 
myself no end of a fine fellow. I'm so big in 
my own eyes that I can't see anybody else. 
You have changed all that. In a few 
minutes — almost in one minute — you have 
put me in my place. I have seen myself for 
once in other eyes — your eyes — and I'm 
jolly well ashamed of myself." 

She rose from her seat, breathing quickly, 
evidently moved. He rose, too, and walked 
beside her step by step along the pleached 

" And — and you think — you believe that 
I have done this without intending to do it ? " 

" I know you have. You didn't even 
know who I was, and were not at all im- 
pressed when I told you. You are as much 
above and beyond — all that — as I am beneath 
you. I'm like a whipped dog, I want to kiss 
the hand that has chastised me. I have 
never known what love of woman means — 
but now I love you, for you have re-created 

Una Bellarmine had grown very pale. Her 
eyes were liquid with unshed tears. She 
wrung her hands together and compressed 
her lips as if to hold back what she felt 
by main force. 

" Really, Sir Algernon " — her voice was 
strained and artificial. " What am I to say 
to you ? Are you — proposing to me, upon 
so — very — slight an acquaintance ? " 

" I am," he answered at once, " though 
not s>o much proposing as confessing. I have 
not, naturally, the least hope that you would 
say ' Yes ' — as yet. I only want you to know 
that from this day on I am going to be as 
unlike what I have been as I can possibly 

The tears that swam in her eyes ran over 
and lay maddeningly on her cheeks, just 
where the camellia white merged into faint 
rose. " Oh," said she, " this is dreadful. 
What have I done ? " 

" I have just told you that. Turned a 
dummy into a live man." 

" Oh, I have, I have ! " she burst out, and 
snatching a handkerchief, she held it to her 
quivering mouth. " I am the hatefullest 
cat in all the world — for I did not, as you 
suppose, do it unintentionally. I set out to 
do it ! You must hear it, I owe it to you 
that you should know — I— did it for abet ! " 

Tyrrell staggered mentally. He even 
winced physically, as if she had hit him. 

"A bet ? " he said, hoarsely. " With 
whom, if I may venture to ask, was the bet 
made ? " 

" With— Jack Hillyer." 

" A bet that you would — what ? Make 
me propose to you ? " 

She assented only by a movement of her 
abased head. There was a most uncomfort- 
able silence. 

" So," he said, " I have been even more a 
laughing-stock than I supposed." 

She stammered for words. " It's — it's all 
turned out so different from anything that 
seemed possible. I — I felt that, in under- 
taking it, I was to avenge the wrongs of 
my sex. And — and your preposterous ill 
manners that first time we met, when I took 
pity on your loneliness — it made me feel that 
you deserved the worst. Jack contrived the 
situation this morning. There was nothing 
wrong with the side-car. We need not have 
fetched the butter. I — I knew perfectly 
well all the time who you were. I was just 
playing with you — deliberately leading you 

THEY had come to a standstill by a 
circular lily-pond, set in the crazy 
stone pavement. In its placid mirror 
they saw themselves reflected — a big man, 
grey of face, with writhing lips ; a girl 
holding her handkerchief to her mouth, 
unable to complete her sentence for the 
sobs which choked her voice. # 

It seemed to them both as if a long, long 
time passed by before he said : — 

" I suppose you are going to marry 
Fosslake ? " 

Before she could reply, they both saw that 
the butler was leading two visitors out of 
the garden doors upon the terrace, and 
preparing to usher them across the lawn. 

" Jack — and Janet. They must have 
come to fetch me," she faltered, unsteadily. 

The victim of Jack Hillyer's joke gazed 
at the new arrivals. Una and he stood close 
behind a big clump of pampas grass, and 
though they could see between its fronds, 
they themselves were hidden from view. 

" Jack's nervous about his money, evi- 
dently," commented the baronet, with a 
composure which took himself by surprise. 
" Was it a very expensive bet ? " 

" Trample on me — it's your right," she 
grieved. " Would it comfort you at all if 
I were to walk across the lawn barefoot, 
wrapped in a sheet and carrying a lighted 
candle ? " 

She found she could not meet his scornful 
eye. " That would indeed complete it 
characteristically. It needed just that sug- 
gestion to fill my dose of physic to the brim. 
So entirely ridiculous have you found me 
that you don't trouble to conceal from me 
that even your expressions of regret were 
not serious." 

" Oh— don't ! Oh, you're savage ! " 

•• Didn't you know that ? There's a beast 



The Man With No Sense of Humour 

in most men, I believe, who will bite if 
tortured," he flung at her, as he moved 
determinedly out of cover and advanced to 
signal to the two who were gazing aimlessly 
about, and apparently finding the absence of 
the couple very amusing. 

" Condolences, Hillyer," he said, clearly, 
as soon as they were within earshot. " Miss 
Bellarmine has won her bet. I hope the 
paying of it won't break you." 
, Jack's honest face grew fiery red. He had 
never heard that tone in the baronet's voice 
before, and it made him feel extremely un- 
comfortable. " What on earth are you 
talking about ? " he demanded in hot con- 

" About your bet." The cool, contemp- 
tuous voice stung and bit. " Miss Bellarmine 
has won. Indeed, I gave her very little 
trouble. It was practically a walk-over. 
She had only to beckon and I responded." 

" I don't know what you mean, Tyrrell — 
are you balmy ? " cried Jack, desperately. 
" What should make you think there was a 
bet about you ? " 

Una had had time to compose herself. 
She stepped into the breach, white, but 
resolute. " Jack — I told him ! I simply 
had to ! He — he isn't a bit like what you 
led me to suppdfee — and I've hurt him dread- 
fully. Oh, what induced me to be such a 
toad ? " 

" What induced you to be such a little 
duffer as to let it out ? " cried Jack, in very 
natural disgust. " That's the worst of girls 
— they can be trusted to give away the show, 
every time." 

" I wonder if you realize exactly what you 
have done, Hillyer ? " asked Tyrrell, steadily. 
" Have you considered, for example, that I 
can hardly continue to live in the neighbour- 
hood after this ? I'm the man with no sense 
of humour — the man they made a bet about 
— the man who thought himself so good at 
eluding girls, and succumbed instantly to the 
very first one that meant business ! I must 
sell Thurning Towers, and go off to some 
other place where I'm not known. Even 
then my reputation is pretty sure to follow 
me. You've made a kind of Wandering 
Jew of me. No doubt it's been a screaming 
joke. But I'm down and out." 

" Tyrrell, don't be a goat ! " pleaded Jack, 
horribly nervous. " Nobody in the wide 
world need ever know what's happened — 
why should they ? Janet knows, and Una 
and I— but " 

" Do you seriously assure me that no one 
else shares your knowledge ? " Tyrrell glanced 
at Janet, who flushed warmly. *' I thought 
so !- Harding is in the precious secret, and 
Harding has handed on the rich jest to a few 
chosen friends — in short, everybody who was 
at the shoot to-day is in the know." 

There was a most unpleasant silence. 
Una flashed a glance at the face of the man 
she had hit so unintentionally hard. It was 
strained and set, but it was not ignoble. 
She found it, in fact, very nearly heroic. 

" Well," she said, defiantly, " and pray 
what do they know ? " 

That challenge drew his eyes to her, and 
he replied at once. ' They know now that 
you undertook my humiliation for a bet ; 
and to-morrow they will know that you 
accomplished it." 

Una cleared her throat. " Then they 
will know more than I do," said she, dis- 

" What do you mean by that ? " 

" I don't remember refusing you," she 
murmured very low, gazing down at the 
grass, and poking a daisy with the tip of her 
shoe. " You see I — as a matter of Tact I 
make it a rule — never to refuse two people 
on the same afternoon. And it happened 
that I refused Lord Fosslake after lunch." 

For quite a perceptible space of time 
nobody moved, and nobody spoke. Then 
Jack pulled out his watch with a jerk. 

" Jove ! How late it is ! And I promised 
the Governor that I'd roll the tennis-lawn 
before dinner ! Come on, Janet — I expect 
Tyrrell will bring Una home, when they've 
had it out." 

He turned on his heel and bolted, closely 
pursued by his sister, back across the lawn, 
faster than they had come. It looked as 
though they were fleeing from an insupport- 
able situation. 

WHEN they were gone Tyrrell did not 
immediately break his overwhelmed 
silence. When he did, he spoke in 
even, chilly tones. 

' What am I expected to do now ? *' 
The tone told her that the question was the 
result not of stupidity but of deliberate 

" Isn't it obvious ? " with a last despairing 
attempt at lightness — "' I am offering you 
your revenge." 

" And suppose " — menacingly — " suppose 
I take it ? " 

" Do you mean — suppose you take — me ? " 

He lost his calm a moment and repeated, 
like a man dazed, "Suppose I take you ? " 

M Well, it's up to you now. You must 
either accept me or — or reject me! Which 
are you going to do ? Ah ! " — as he made 
a motion of repudiating both alternatives, 
" can't you see I'm in earnest now ? You've 
pushed me to it ! You're so sincere, I can't 
be insincere ! Oh, I like you ! I admire 
you ! You have taken this insult standing ! 
I'm not at all sure that I couldn't even — love 
you — with a little persuasion ! " 

" But i'Bl^tffSS fifeHT ' rm 

Mrs. Baillie Reynolds 


What induced you to be such a little duffer aa to let it out > ' cried Jack. ' That's the 
worst of girls they can be trusted to give away the show, every time/ ' 

better at bullying, I believe," he said, 
sternly, " and I shall try that if you go on 
playing with me much longer/' 

She raised her usually half-closed eyes, 
They were afire with mischief, and dark with 
something deeper. " I shall probably play 
with you more than you like — at least at 
first ! However, with practice, you may 
grow more playful — that is, I hope so ; but 
this afternoon I deserve to be punished, so 

you have leave to bully me, if you like, If 
you don't like — I can go " 

The sentence was not destined to be 
finished. " I'll take you at your word/' he 
cried , as he inf prisoned her, and incredulously 
found her yielding and thrilling in his arms. 
" Your punishment will be more lingering if 
I keep you than if I let you go.'* 

" It looks remarkably like a life-sentence 

tet ^&TWffilttlGAN 


- SAR.?"* 


THERE are 
that may 
be best de- 
scribed as mixed. 
Patrick Michael 
O'Sheamus Cassidy 
was a professional 
gambler, a man of 
mark in two hemi- 
spheres, and a man 
absolutely to be 
trusted. Like the 
great S h e e d y , his 
word was as good as 
his bond ; like the late lamented 
Mr. John Oakhurst, he had a 
heart as well as a purse ; but 
he had no soft spots in his 
character. He knew men and 
he knew women, and he knew 
little good of them. He had 
absolutely no mercy for fools 
and knaves and the weak of knee, 'but for 
an honest fellow-mortal in distress Cassidy 
wasja sure stand-by, and Truth was, for 
him, Religion. 

Cassidy 's knowledge of art was almost 
equal to his knowledge of men. He was 
always travelling and picking up treasures, 
storing them to be used some day when the 
spirit moved him to drop the cards and dice 
and settle down. He was fond of music. 
He was fond^of so many simple things that 
his character, coupled with his wealth, 
formed a problem. Why did he continue 
in a profession ranking in pious eyes only a 
little above the profession of a burglar ? 

Perhaps he knew that in private life his 
past would follow him. Had he been a 
gambler in wheat, in stocks, in land, or the 
lives of his fellow-mortals, all would have 
been well; but he had chosen to be a gambler 
pure and simple, and, though he had chosen 
a cleaner game than that which they often 
play in the Wheat Pit or Walt Street, con- 
vention was against him. Perhaps the game 
dominated him. Perhaps the study of men 
and of character conducted across the green 
board held him in its grip. Who knows ? 


H. de VERE 



He was forty-two at 
the date of this story, 
a fine-looking, fresh- 
faced man, clean- 
shaven, weil-dressed, 
and with a voice that 
told the tale of his 
Irish descent, but this 
morning he iooked 
scarcely thirty as he 
stood on the deck of 
the Saigon, coming to 
her berth across the 
blue harbour under 
the blaze of the 
Javanese sky. 
Coloured houses, rocketing 
palms, far blue mountains, 
the harbour where western 
freighters and junks lay at 
anchor, he took it all in as 
he stood on the spar deck 
talking to Van Zyall. the Dutch 
trader, and two or three other 
passengers of the Saigon. The tepid wind 
blowing from the shore brought perfumes 
of vanilla and earth, ooze and a tang of 
tar from the n earing wharves. Sights, 
sounds, and smells absolutely unnoticed by 
the others who were talking of the Borneo 
tobacco crop, the customs, and the price 
of sugar. 

" You stay at the Amsterdam Hotel," 
said Van Zyall for the twentieth time that 
morning. " Tell them Van Zyall sent you, 
Hoffman will put you straight/' 

" I'll remember/' said Cassidy. During 
the ran from Malacca he had lost money to 
Van Zyall ; the play had been trifling for him, 
and it amused him to think that the Dutch- 
man was trying to make amends for his 
winnings by offers of good advice. 

Then came along Conn art. He had lost 
money to Connart, too. Connart was a man 
of dubious nationality, about as old as 
Cassidy, a fragile man, worn by the climate, 
pale, and with a brown Vandyke beard. He 
was well-to-do, owning a big place near the 
town, and he interested Cassidy a tot. 

Connart hated to lose and loved to win* 
Most men do, but in the exhibition of his 

Copyright, i^at, by H* de Vere I^WIpbERSl TV OF MICHIGAN 

H. de Vere Stacpoole 


hatred and love, in his general manner of 
play, and in something recondite and illusive 
in the man's character and appealing only 
to some sixth sense, Cassidy had formed the 
opinion that here was a gambler of the first 

Very few men are that. 

Cassidy had also formed the opinion that 
Connart was an uncut jewel, that his passion 
had never been fully developed, either from 
want of opportunity or self-restraint. 

Last night, in a conversation with Connart, 
he had discovered that lack of opportunity 
was the probable cause, the ingenuous 
Connart declaring that it was quite impossible 
to play high outside Monte Carlo without 
being swindled. 

' Of course, it is different with you," said 
he, meaning to say that Cassidy 's probity 
was beyond reproach. 


WHERE are you putting up ? " asked 

" The Amsterdam Hotel," replied 
Cassidy. " Van Zyall says it's the best." 

** He's right," replied the other. " How 
long did you say you were staying here ? " 

" A week. I'm going on by this boat and 
she'll be here a week." 

" Well, you must come and see me," re- 
plied the other; "come to dinner or some- 
thing. My place is not far out, and I'll run 
in and fetch you to-morrow, if you'll come. 
I'll run in about five and you can dine with 
me — will you ? " 

' Yes," said Cassidy. "I'll come." 

The Saigon was close in to the wharf now, 
moving almost imperceptibly, with the 
engines rung off and the fellows waiting 
with the hawsers. Cassidy, collecting his 
luggage, did not see Connart again, and when 
he reached the Amsterdam Hotel had almost 
forgotten him. 

Here, in the hot season, one does a lot 
of forgetting. Seated in the veranda with 
a whisky-and-soda at his elbow he fell 
into conversation with a trader who spoke 
English like an Englishman and who gave 
him the news of the place. Van Amberg 
was the trader's name, and his news was 
mostly about crop prospects, the rate of 
exchange on London, and the pictures showing 
that week at the chief cinema palace. Then 
Cassidy gave his news, the bad cooking on 
board the Saigon, a storm they had run into 
after leaving Malacca, and other trifles, in- 
cluding the names of some of the passengers. 

Van Amberg knew some of them person- 
ally, including Connart. 

"I'm going to dinner with him to-morrow 
night," said Cassidy. 

" Oh, are you ? " said Van Amberg. " Then 
you'll see DaiaJgi! Li I 

" Who's Daia ? " 

" She's his wife — well, call her his wife — 
Dyak girl." 

" Dyak ? " 

" Just so. Not from Borneo. New 
Guinea Coast. Some sea Dyaks have settled 
there up a river, and that's where Connart 
fell in with her. He was up there pros- 
pecting for gold and nearly lost his head, for 
those chaps go in for head collecting still on 
the sly. I had the whole story from Ollsen, 
a man who was with him in those parts on 
the gold hunt. There were six of them, with 
a few Javanese chaps to help work the 
schooner they hired, and they pushed her up 
the river as far as she would go and then 
took to the bank, leaving the ship in charge 
of the Javanese. 

" Ollsen was the man who had the location, 
and a three days' tramp took them to it and 
they found gold, but not in paying quantity. 
They found rubies, too, but small and not of 
much account. Then they fell in with the 
Dyaks, who were friendly at first, or seemed 
so, till, one night, there was a row. 1 don't 
know what about, but the Dyaks broke up 
the camp and killed everyone but Connart 
and Ollsen. 

" They tied these two chaps up and put 
them in a hut — meaning to kill them later 
on most likely, but Daia had taken a fancy 
to Connart, and she cut them loose in the 
night and showed them the way down the 
river, back to their ship. Sounds like a 
yarn, doesn't it, but it's true enough. He 
couldn't send the girl back to her tribe — 
they'd have killed her. So he took her 
with him and brought her here. Sounds 
like a story out of the pictures." 

Cassidy concurred. There is a touch of 
unreality about the Dutch East Indies, at 
least for a Briton. The past clings to them, 
and there the days seem not so far remote 
when the high-pooped ships of Holland held 
the seas, when De Ruyter and Van Tromp 
led the Dutch fleets, and Vanderdecken was 
a man, not a legend. 

4 * What sort of fellow is Connart ? " asked 

"Oh, good enough," said the other; "a 
bit close and keeps to himself. It isn't often 
that he invites people to his place — must 
have taken a fancy to you." 

" Does he gamble ? " 

r ' Not that I know of." 

Then Van Amberg, remembering business, 
went off down town, leaving Cassidy to his 
thoughts undisturbed, except by the rustle 
of the tepid wind in the palm trees by the 

Connart knew him by repute as well as 
personally. Pat Cassidy, the gambler, was 
even a big^r figure in the East than in the 
West, trot only becaujBe- of ( hisi reputation for 


"Cocktail, Sar? 


straight dealing and high play, but by the 
fact that he had won the Calcutta Sweep 
two years before. 

It was the gambler, not the man, that 
Connart had taken a fancy to. 

Sure of his money if he won, with all his 
latent gamblinginstinct magneticallyaroused, 
Connart was anxious for play, and play on 
a big scale. So Cassidy fancied as he sat 
in the great cane arm-chair smoking and 
listening to the wind in the palms. 

The more he thought of the matter, the 
more sure he was that Connart was no 
" sucker " anxious to win a few pounds, but 
a gambler worth engaging in battle. 

Cassidy, in his long experience, had only 
met two dangerous men. Men who had 
fought him to the death and threatened to 
destroy him. Cedarquist, of the Amazon 
Plantation Company, and Bowater, the 
wheat speculator. Men in these little days 
play as a rule for amusement or to win a 
few pounds ; the great gamblers of the past 
belong to the past. But, occasionally, one 
finds a throw-back. 

Some instinct told Cassidy that Connart 
was the third dangerous man he had met, 
but he was not yet sure. To-morrow would 


A LITTLE before five o'clock next day 
Connart's car, driven by a Chinese 
chauffeur, drew up at the hotel. 

Cassidy was waiting in the veranda and 
they started, taking a road that led by banks 
of tree fern, palms, and grey-green cactus, 
under a sky losing its glare and against a 
wind warm and scented with the fragrance 
of trees and flowers. 

Then fields of cane took the place of 
palms and ferns, and, beyond the cane-fields, 
groves of orange led them to the home 
of Connart, a wide, spaciously- built ver- 
andaed dwelling amidst gardens haunted 
by tropical butterflies and birds gorgeous 
as the flowers. 

- * Well," said Cassidy, as he looked around 
him, " you ought to be happy here." 

" Oh, it's well enough," said Connart, 
unenthusiastically; "the only thing against 
it is it's not Europe." 

• Faith, that's true," said the other. He 
was thinking more of the Dyak girl Van 
Am berg had spoken of than his host, but 
there was no sign of her. They took their 
seats in the veranda, and the Chinese 
servants brought drinks and cigars, and they 
talked of a hundred things, but never once 
did Connart hint of a wife. 

At dinner it was the same ; the iced 
champagne did not loosen Connart's tongue 
as to himself and his affairs, and then, after 
dinner, they had no need for conversation. 
The thing had happened. They had drifted 

into play, and, seated opposite one another, 
were barred out from all things mundane but 
the chances of the game. 

The great moon rose and cast its light on 
the palms and flowers of the garden, and laid 
a square of white on the matting of the room 
where a blue haze of cigar smoke hung above 
the lamps ; white moths entered and c3st 
bird-like shadows on the table and walls, 
unheeded by the players. 

Past midnight thte grass curtains dividing 
the room from the next were pushed aside 
and the figure of a girl appeared. 

It was Daia. 

Van Amberg had forgotten to mention that 
she was beautiful. 

The bangles on her bare arms glittered in 
the lamplight, her feet were bare, and the 
robe of gauzy, ghostly white material, naif 
veiling the lines of her figure, added to *he 
strangeness of the picture. 

Cassidy looked up, then Connart turned. 

" Daia," said Connart. Then turning to 
Cassidy, '* This is Daia." He picked up his 
cards again, the girl glided up and stood 
behind his chair, and the game went on 
without another word. 

The beauty of the girl and the strangeness 
had no effect upon Cassidy. He had wished 
to see her as a curiosity, nothing more. 
Women had no part in his life. Without 
being a misogynist, he was absolutely cold 
as far as the other sex was concerned — 
rather antagonistic, if anything. Women 
were a nuisance. Yet he was attractive to 

Daia, standing behind Connart's chair, 
seemed to find him attractive now. Her 
eyes were fixed upon him, eyes deep and 
mysterious as the sea, dark as night in the 
forests of Borneo. 

Cassidy continued his play ; a stone figure 
standing behind Connart's chair would have 
moved him as little as the figure of the girl. 
The game held him entirely. 

Then, chancing to look up, he saw the 
curtains swaying. She was gone. 

The play continued till the clock standing 
on a little table close by struck two. Then 
he broke off play. 

He had lost seven hundred pounds. He 
took a fountain pen from his pocket and 
wrote out his cheque on Matheson's Bank, 
and handed it to Connart. 

" They'll tell you my cheque is good for 
any amount," said Cassidy. 

" That's all right," said Connart. " Have 
a game to-morrow night ? " 

** Just as you like." 

"Right!— I'll send the car for you. 
You'll dine here ?— Right." He called a 
servant and ordered the car to be brought 
round. fro| . 

H. de Vere Stacpoole 

1 s 


Daia, landing behind Connart's chair, seemed to find Ois^y dltt active. Her eyes were 
fixed upon him, eyes deep and miJ^tiJ^ 


"Cocktail, Sar? 


" Oh, the hotel keeps open all night," 
replied the other. " We're used to late 
hours in this place/' 


ON the way back to the hotel Cassidy 
felt elated. He had six days before 
the Saigon started, and he reckoned 
on a big fight with a worthy antagonist. 
The stakes of to-night would be nothing to 
what was coming, and Connart had the 
money to back his elbow. He had made 
inquiries about him. Games where skill 
entered into the business did not appeal to 
Cassidy ; pure chance was his favourite field 
and the bones his favourite weapon. 

He played bridge, just as a golfer plays 
clock golf on a lawn, but he looked down on 
the game and the highly respectable men 
and women who make an income by their 
sharpness as bridge players. 

Just before closing his eyes that night the 
figure of the girl Daia framed itself, for a 
moment, before him. Was Connart married 
to her ? The question came with the 
picture. He could not tell and he did not 

Next day at five o'clock the car arrived, 
and Cassidy took his departure for the 

Connart received him in the veranda ; 
dinner was dispatched, and the business of 
the evening began. 

Midnight struck unheeded by the players, 
and again, as on the preceding night, the 
curtains parted, the figure of Daia appeared, 
stood for a moment, and then glided behind 
the chair of Connart. 

Cassidy looked up and bowed. The girl 
inclined her head slightly, then she stood, 
motionless as a statue, seeming to watch the 
play, but in reality watching Cassidy. 

He seemed to fascinate her. 

Perhaps he was for her a new type of man, 
perhaps his absolute indifference towards 
her was the charm ; her eyes followed every 
movement of his hands and every expression 
on his face. 

Then, instead of withdrawing as on the 
preceding night, she sat on the arm of a 
great basket chair near by, still watching, 
and absolutely unheeded by the object of her 

Cassidy was winning to-night. He had 
wiped off the seven hundred. Fortune had 
deserted Connart, and was standing behind 
the chair ol his opponent. 

Then, when the little clock on the table 
near by struck two, Cassidy laid down his 
cards. He had won two thousand five 
hundred pounds. 

Daia had vanished. 

" Let'* go on," said Connart. 

" Well then, till half-past," replied Cassidy. 

They went on, but the luck still held, and 
at half-past two the play stopped, Connart 
three thousand pounds to the bad. 

" You've struck a bad vein," said Cassidy. 
" It would have been better to have stopped. 
Oh, don't bother about a cheque. We can 
settle up before I go. You'll want your 

" To-morrow night ? " said the other. 

" Right," said Cassidy, " but I'm straining 
your hospitality ; why not come and dine 
with me at the hotel and play there ? " 

"I'd just as soon play here," replied 
Connart, " if it's all the same to you. It's 
more comfortable here, and quieter. Be- 
sides, hotel people talk." 

"That's true," said Cassidy, "but what 
do you mind about the hotel people ? " 
Connart, helping himself to a whisky-and- 
soda with a steady hand, despite his losses, 
did not reply for a moment. Then he 
said : — 

" Oh, I don't know — one has to keep up a 
name in a place like this. I know the best 
people, and you'd be surprised how old- 
fashioned and stodgy they are. There are 
only two circles here, the best and the worst, 
and I've strained the best with Daia. I 
don't want to add late gambling at the 
Amsterdam to my sins. I never gamble — 
that's my reputation here." 

Cassidy took a whisky-and-soda, then 
while the car was being brought round, and 
to make conversation, he asked about Daia. 

" A man at the hotel was talking about 
you,' said Cassidy, " and he mentioned that 
you were married." 

" I'm not." 

" I see." 

" No, you don't — Daia is no more to me 
than a daughter." 

" You mean " 

" I mean exactly what I say. Did that 
man tell you how she came to me ? " 

" Yes." 

" She got me free of those Dyak people, 
risked her life for me, and she lives with me, 
and, of course, not being married to me, 
people look on her as my mistress. She's 
not, she's my dog. She became violently 
attached to me up in that camping place, 
just as a child or a dog might ; she led me as 
a dog might, and she lives with me as a dog 
might live with me. There is nothing at all 
between us but that. People don't know 
that ; it's no use in telling them, they couldn't 
understand. I've never even tried to tell 
them. I did tell one man, a Dutchman, 
that there was nothing between us, that 
Daia was only living here as a child might 
live with me, and he winked at me and 
grinned." Q r j, a | fW 

H. de Vere Stacpoole 


Cassidy, " but it's queer. D'you care for 
her ? " 

41 Very much, but only as I might care for 
a dog. She's undeveloped, or rather not 
quite human — still, I care for her very much. 
You see, she cares for me in quite an extra- 
ordinary way — as a dog. Can anything care 
for a man as much as a dog does ? " 

" Faith, I don't know/' said Cassidy. 
" I've never had a dog and I've never cared 
for a woman." 

Then the car came round and he drove off 
for the hotel with, somehow, a better opinion 
of Connart than he had before. 

CONNART was weak. Cassidy, like a 
physician, had diagnosed the great 
weak spot in his character. He was 
an Ai gambler without the special genius 
of a Cassidy, and without the moral or 
immoral courage to gamble openly. For- 
tune hates a man like that, who hangs on 
to her skirts in the dark and ignores her 
in the daylight, and Cassidy, the spoiled 
child of Fortune, could not but despise 
him — but he was at least leading a clean 
life and he had not wronged the woman who 
had loved him. 

Next night the proceedings took place as 
usual, and the next — it might have been a 
play that was being acted over and over 
again with a slight difference each time, the 
dinner, the. game, Daia gliding in and out 
again, the settling-up, and the departure of 

Fortune played with the players, huge 
sums were lost and won, but it was not till 
the fifth and tragic night that the real 
struggle came. Cassidy was due to depart 
in the morning. The Saigon left at eight 
o'clock. His luggage, all but a few light 
things, was on board. 

They had flung the cards away. The dice 
had taken their place, and the players sat 
opposite one another flushed, bright-eyed, 
and heedless of everything but chance. 
They had drunk more than enough, and long 
glasses of iced brandy-and-soda stood on the 
table at their elbows. 

Daia was not present. She had looked in 
and vanished. The clock pointed to seven 
minutes to two. 

Cassidy rattled the box and cast. 

Then Connart pushed his chair back. 

" That does me," said he. 

He had lost fifteen thousand pounds. 

Cassidy picked up the cubes, dropped them 
again, and leaned back in his chair. 

" Are you cleared out ? " asked he. 

" Absolutely." 

" Rough luck! " said Cassidy. 

The tension removed, the drink was getting 
at him. He suddenly hated the business. 
H^ had never played quite like this before, 

calling night after night and accepting his 
opponent's hospitality. The victory had 
drawn all his teeth. He would have handed 
back his winnings straight across the table, 
but he could not do that. They had played ; 
if he had lost, he would have paid. The 
fifteen thousand was his, and Connart was 
not the man to accept charity. 

" The plantation is tied up," said Connart, 
" and there's no more cash, and that's an 
end of it." ♦■ 

Cassidy, leaning back in his chair, hands 
in pockets, seemed to be thinking profoundly. 
Then he sat up. The whisky had given him 
an idea. 

" I'll play you double or quits," said he 
with a hiccup. 

" I told you I had nothing more," replied 

" Put up Daia," said the other, with a 
laugh. " I'll play you for Daia or quits — 
go on, you fool, you're going to win." 

" Daia ! " said Connart. 

On the crest of disaster, a life-line seemed 
flung to him by Satan, though Cassidy was 
Satan by no means. Cassidy was just a man 
who wanted to get out. He had fancied 
Connart a very wealthy man ; he wasn't. 
He was broken at fifteen thousand, and all 
those dinners and all the hospitality he had 
received rose up, backed and flushed with 
whisky in Cassidy's mind, crying, if you will 
permit the stretch, " Give the chap another 

He did not want Daia. If he won her, 
she would be of no use to him. It was 
like saying, " I will play you for that big 
euphorbia tree in your garden." He could no 
more take Daia off with him than the tree. 

But to Connart, whose mind was in a 
whirl, the life-line seemed cast to him by 
the Devil — still there was the chance ! 

Had he stopped to think, he might have 
refused. Cassidy gave him no time. 

He cast, handed the box to Connart, who 

" You've won," said Cassidy, " We're 

" God ! " said Connart, with his elbows on 
the table and his head between his hands. 

Gambling teaches one a lot of things. He 
had gambled with Daia as a counter and 
might have lost her to this man — this Devil ! 
and the thing he might have lost disclosed 
itself to him. He loved the woman who had 
saved him. She had saved him twice. 
Saved his life, saved his future. 

Cassidy, well pleased, poured himself out 
another whisky, lit another cigar, and sat 
down again. 

Connart neither moved nor spoke, then he 
rose up, went to a desk in the corner of the 
room, opened a drawer and took something 

from ika^ra?fer on,ent - 


"Cocktail, Sar?" 

He came to Cassidy with a slip of paper 
in his hand. Cassidy took it. It was a 
cheque for fifteen thousand. 

Cassidy tore the paper in two, then in four, 
and cast the pieces on the ground, the whisky 
turning to vinegar in him. 

" I'd give you to understand that I'm a 
gentleman," said Cassidy. " Good night. 
I don't want the car. I can walk." 

NOTHING is more unreasonable than 
whisky stopped in its convivial and 
warming work, especially when its 
workshop is the mind of an Irishman. 

For a mile down the road Cassidy walked, 
absurdly raging. Then the night wind and 
the moonlight and the palms and the exercise 
began to tell on him, and he reached the 
outskirts of the town, calm, and almost 

The Chinese night porter saluted him and 
he went up to his room, turned on the 
electrics, and began to pack the few things 
he carried in his light luggage. 

He could not sleep, so he did not undress. 
It was after four in the morning and he would 
have to join the Saigon at seven, so he lit 
a pipe and sat down at the open window 
to smoke and think. The whole of this 
business was a new experience and gave him 
plenty of food for thought. It came to him 
now that Connart had actually gambled 
with the girl, whilst he, Cassidy, had only 
used her as a door of escape, a last chance to 
let Connart save himself. Did Connart 
actually imagine that he, Cassidy, cared for 
the girl and wanted her ? Undoubtedly. 
That was why he tried to hand back the 
money and efface as much as possible the 
disgraceful deal into which he had been 
trapped — that was the word — by Cassidy. 

Cassidy, considering this matter, laughed 
to himself. 

He would never see Connart again, but 
Connart would always have that opinion of 
him, would look on him as a man who had 
taken advantage of another man's money 
losses to do a deal in flesh and blood. 

He heard voices down below, then the 
voices ceased. He tapped the ashes from 
his pipe and was just about to re-fill it when 
the door of his room opened. He turned 
and found himself face to face with Daia. 

She had evidently followed him on foot. 
The reason why she had .followed him, any 
man could see, even Cassidy. It surrounded 
her like an aura as she stood gazing at him 
with those dark, unfathomable eyes. 

He neither rose from his chair nor spoke. 

Behind her, the yellow claw-like hand of 
the Chinese night porter closed the door on 

She came gliding towards him, sank beside 

him and took his hands in hers ; then, with 
head raised and her eyes still fixed on his, she 
began to speak. She spoke in the language 
of her people. He did not understand a 
word, but he understood everything. Under- 
stood that she had followed him, that she 
loved him, that she was his slave, that she 
would follow him to the ends of the earth, 
and even beyond, to the ghostly country of 
the Atu Jalan. 

With her hands clasped in his, he was no 
longer thinking, or trying to think ; she 
enveloped him. 

Then, suddenly, the spell was broken. 

The sound of a car drawing up outside 
came through the open window, 

Cassidy disengaged himself, swiftly but 
gently, from the arms that had encircled 
him, he placed his finger on his lips to say 
" Hush," stole to the door, opened it, and 
glanced back. She was gazing after him, 
crouched still beside the chair, with one arm 
resting on it. She nodded to him as though 
to say, " I wait." He left the room and 
next moment he was in the hall. 

The night lamp showed Connart, and 
through the open door beyond he could see 
the car standing in the dawn. 

" Ah," said Connart. 

" Come outside," said Cassidy. He got 
the other into the street. 

Connart, in the grey-blue light that was 
breaking over the houses, looked old and 
shaken. Cassidy, hatless and dazed, stood 
for a moment, then, pointing with his thumb 
to the upper storey of the hotel, he said, 
" She's up there. In my room." 

" You tore up my cheque, for money was 
not your game, and you pretended to be 
angry and refused the car, and spoke of 
yourself as a gentleman ! " said Connart. 
He took off his hat and held it in his hand 
for a moment as though to let the land wind, 
which was beginning to blow, reach his head. 
Then he dropped the hat on the ground, and 
folded his arms and inclined his head slightly 
as if in thought. 

" You are absolutely wrong," said Cassidy. 
" She has only come this minute." 

" I know that," said Connart, " an honest 
man told me — the hall porter." 

Cassidy swallowed the insult. 

" She followed me without my knowing. 
I had absolutely nothing to do with it. I do 
not care for her." 

Connart laughed. 

" How could she follow you ? She has 
been scarcely ever in this town and she did 
not know where you were staying." 

Cassidy seemed to consider the proposition 
for a moment. The unfortunate man could 
not tell whether she had foHowed him by 
some Dyak tracking instinct, or by scent 
like a do? P or how. He only Vnew the facts 

H. de Veie Stacpoole 



"He did no I understand a word, but he understood everything she loved him^ she was 
hi* slave she would follow htm to I he ends. <J the earth."* 


VoL UiL-11. 


"Cocktail, Sar? 


of the case, and the hopelessness of trying to 
explain the position, also the absolute 
necessity of getting away at once lest Daia 
should suddenly appear. 

Then he remembered that he had no hat, 
that he would have to go back for it. That 
was the last straw. 

" You can think what you like of me," 
said he, " she's innocent. Go up and take 
her away. I'm off. Curse this place. I'm 
going aboard. I have no hat." 

He picked up Connart's hat, turned, and 
walked off with it. 

AT eight o'clock the Saigon put out, and 
jf"\ Cassidy, on the deck with Connart's 
panama on his head, stood watching 
the receding wharves. Not a word had come 
from Connart to the ship, not a whisper 
through the clear air of all that fantastic 
business. The town, with its palm trees 
and houses flooded by the blaze of morn- 
ing light, had about it an extraordinary 
air of peace and contentment, silence and 

detachment. What had happened at the 
Amsterdam Hotel ? Had she gone back ; 
what did she think of him ; what was Con- 
nart thinking of him ? Was Connart wear- 
ing his hat ; what would the hotel people 
do with the few inconsiderable articles he 
had left behind ; what would they think of 
him leaving like that ? Then, suddenly, a 
great and forgotten fact wrote itself in letters 
x>f fire from the blue hills to the sea. 

" You have not paid your hotel bill." A 
week's board and lodging, champagne, 
cigars, drinks to all and sundry, tips 

He left the deck and sought the bar of 
the Saigon, where a dusky gentleman was 
setting out bottles — above the bottles, across 
the Venesta panelling, the words re-grouped 
themselves : — 

" You have not paid your hotel bill." He 
could liken the whole situation to nothing 
earthly, till 

" Cocktail, sar ? " asked the dusky bar- 

Cassidy nodded. 


A new four-months series begins below. Twelve guineas 
will be awarded in prizes. 

If seasons by their fruits are known, 
Autumn and summer here are shown. 

1. In spacious times queen good and great 

2. Luminous and of little weight. 

3. When thus, a door is not a door. 

4. Now think of eighteen fifty-four. 

5. Sounds new, as someone was aware. 

6. Tib thus some ladies treat their hair. 

7. A Roman standard, or a bird. 

8. Five-lettered palindromic word. 

9. A current yarn, untrue perhaps. 

10. Recurring, when twelve months elapse. 


Answers to Acrostic No. 97 must rtach the Acrostic Editor, 
The Strand Magazine, Southampton Street, Strand, 
London, W.C.2, not later than by the first post on August 9th. 

One alternative may be sent to each light. At the foot every 
solver should write his pseudonym, to consist of one word. 

A bishop's motto and a soldier's fame 
Inspire our boys to work, and play the game. 

1. One word the grain and chaff will separate ; 
Two words will make success immediate. 

2. Hive island head ; and further hints we note 

In words that rhyme with clock, and shell, and goat. 

3. Riches and shrub will show, when mixed up well, 
His other name, if truth traditions tell. 

4. An active quadruped you first select ; 
Part of the head, and all its tail reject. 

5. The word recalls a deed of bygone days, 

6. Choose the right foreign port ; then may be seen 
Three English ones in battle, this, and queen. 

7. Descent unbroken may a hint convey. 
Therefore a monarch makes it clear as day. 

3. When ancient eighth is of a fifth bereft, 
Hie twentieth of present day is left* 

9. Twelve-lettered adverb acts most suitably 
Till guessed ; the central third alone we see. 

10. For forty days an English Lent will last ; 
Some thirty days Mohammedans will fast. 

1. W inno W 

2. I nchcap E 

3. N athanie L 

4. C hil L 

5. H on I 

6. E us to N 

7. S oakin O 

8. T he T 

9. E ri O 
10. R a mad a N 

Notes. — Proem. William of Wvkeham, Manners makyth 
man ; Duke of Wellington. Light 2. Inch, island ; cape, 
head. Rook, bell, float ; see Southey's verses. 3. Broom, 
wealth : Bartholomew. 4. Chinchilla ; chin, part of the 
head. 5. The institution of the Order of the Garter. Honi 
soil qui mal y pcnse. "So it," united, becomes soit. 
6. Termini, in Sicily. Waterloo, Victoria. 7. Descent 
unbroken, persistent rain. Therefore a monarch, so a king. 
8. Theta, eighth letter of Greek alphabet; the T, the 
twentieth of English alphabet. 9. Mysteriously. 

" Neura " is accepted for the fifth light of No. 94. 

So it united follows in the phrase. 

Solvers are requested to send, with their answers to 
No. 97, their real names and addresses also. Unless post* 
cards are used, these should be written at the back of 
their solutions. 

The A.E. will ba gsii&ifril if solvere will kindly avoid 
the use of ir&ry fuissy note-paper, 



Auifior of 44 Grtcn Mansions/ 1 " Adventures Among Birds/ 1 "The 
^Purple Land/' eic, etc 


ONE day when standing at my 
window I noticed a pied wagtail 
running about in the road below 
in search of the small crumbs the 
starlings, sparrows, and others had left, when 
a big cat came over the road on its way 
home to the house next door. When within 
about four yards of the wagtail he stopped 
short, his body stiffened, and with eyes fixed 
on the bird he crouched down on the ground, 
and continued in that position motionless as 
a piece of stone except that the tip of his tail 
curved and uncurved and moved from side 
to side. The predatory instinct was alight 
and fiercely burning in him. Then came the 
advance — the slow crawling movement which 
is scarcely perceptible to a creature directly 
in front. The crawling movement continued 
untU he was within about six feet of his prey, 
the wagtail meanwhile going on with his 
busy search for crumbs and appearing to 
take no notice of the cat — knowing, I 
suppose, that a stroke of his wings at any 
moment would place him 6ut of danger, and 
that the exact moment had not yet come. 
Then the cat, when so near his bird, so intent 
on it, all at once stood up, unstiflcned, and 
turning walked away deliberately to his own 
garden -gate and went in ! 

Now a cat cannot see a bird within easy 
distance on the ground without the desire 
for a bird, the most compelling impulse he 
knows, being roused in him ; and that first 
stillness and fixed attention is but the first 
of a series of movements which go on 
automatically to the finish— till he makes his 
dash or spring, or till the bird flies away. 
Why, then, did this particular cat behave as 
he did and abandon a pursuit which was just 

as promising as many another he had engaged 
in ? Here we are confronted with the old 
unsolved problem : Do animals reflect ? Is 
even the mentally highest among them 
capable, in a case like this* of recognizing 
that the thing contemplated is impossible, 
and that the chase might as well be 
abandoned ? 

1 really think he is ; and actions like the 
one described, and many other actions of 
cats I have observed, serve to convince me 
that some of the higher animals, and es- 
pecially in this largest -brained and most 
perfect mammalian, have something more 
than just the unreflecting intelligence which 
we find in all creatures, from whales and 
elephants to insects — something which in 
many instances cannot easily be distin- 
guished from what we call reflection in 

The case of this next-door cat has served 
to remind me of another cat. the valued pet 
of a lady friend of mine who Jived near 
London and did afl she could to attract the 
birds to her grounds, also all she could to 
break her cat of his bird -hunting habits, 

In summer, afternoon tea was always 
partaken of in the large garden at the back, 
or in the veranda overlooking it* An old 
apple-tree grew on the lawn, and the birds 
at tea-time used to congregate on its branches, 
waiting to be fed. She would then take a 
plateful of crumbs of bread and cake and 
throw these on the grass under the tree. 
The cat, having discovered this habit of his 
mistress, would always turn up at tea-time, 
and as soon as the crowd of birds dropped 
down on the crumbs and were busily engaged 
picking them up, he would begin his stalk, 

"""ffllf ffiff SPStfflfe^^ across the 

1 62 

Do Cats Think ? 

open green space of the lawn, and invariably 
just before the moment for making his dash 
they would fly up into the branches and wait 
till he got tired of waiting for them to come 
down. Then he would go back and sit 
beside his mistress's chair, watching the birds 
drop down again until the becrumbed bit of 
ground was full of them, and he would stalk 
them again with the same result as before. 

My friend was distressed at her cat's action 
at first, and for several days tried to stop it ; 
but the cat always defeated her, and in the 
end it began to am use her to watch her pet's 
vain efforts to catch her little pensioners. 
She would say to her guests when taking up 
the plate of crumbs, + " Now my cat is going 
to exhibit his talents for your admiration " ; 
and when the cat made his stalk and returned 
to them there would be much laughter at his 
expense. She would say too ; " How won- 
derful that so intelligent an animal should go 
on day after day trying to do something he 
can't do and never discovering that it can't 
be done ! 1 dare say he will go on to the end 
without ever finding out that it is impossible 
to capture birds on the lawn by stalking 

But the cat didn't go on to the end with 
the same method. One afternoon, to her 
surprise, when she took the crumbs he went 
with her, and after she had thrown them on 

the grass under 
the tree he seated 
himself in the 
very middle of 
the becrumbed 
area and waited 
for the birds to 
come down and 
be caught. The 
birds overhead 
waited for him 
to go away ; and 
a full hour was 
passed in this 
way — the cat 
very patient, the 
birds chirping 
and scolding and 

going and coming \ but they wouldn't come 
down. Then at last the cat returned to his 
mistress and the birds had their meal in peace. 
The stalk was not attempted then or ever 
again. But on the following afternoon the 
cat went again and placed himself in the 
middle of the crumbs, and again waited a full 
hour for the birds, and then as on the day 
before he gave it up. On the third day the 
whole tiling was repeated, and the result was 
as before. 

On the fourth afternoon the crumbs were 
taken to the usual place ; the lady came back 
to the table, and everyone prepared to look 
and laugh at the cat once more. But they 
were disappointed. He never moved : the 
birds came in their usual numbers and had 
their meal, and the cat looked at them from 
his place beside his mistress, and from that 
day he made no further attempt to capture 

In this instance the cat had made a fool of 
himself all the time — a bigger fool when he 
changed his strategy than before — but the 
very fact that he did change it appears to 
show reflection. He didn't know the mind 
of a bird as well as w r e do, but he had hit on 
the idea — one must use the w p ord in this case — 
that it was his conspicuous advance over the 
smooth lawn which alarmed and sent them 
away : that if he dispensed with the advance 
and established himself beforehand where the 
food was and sat still they would come to 
devour it, and he being on the spot would 
have no difficulty in catching them ! After 
giving this second plan three days' trial he 
was convinced that it was as useless as the 
former one, and so gave it up for good. 


THE next-door cat, described as stalking a 
wagtail in the foregoing part, was in a 
village over against Falmouth where I 
was spending the winter. The succeeding 
winter was spent in Penzance, and there were 
two cats in the house — a Tom and a Puss, if it 
be permissible to describe their sexes in that 
way — both black. * 

They soon established friendly relations 


As soon as the crowd ot birds chopped dow^'Jpfll.^ief.J crumbs and 

W. H, Hudson 


with me, and shared my meals — a saucer of 
milk at breakfast- time, a little meat or fish 
on a plate at early dinner, and again fish 
at the six o'clock tea, or if I had nothing 
but an egg they would have some cream. 
And very soon, when feeding them, I noticed 
the extraordinary difference in their 
respective characters* 

Both were true cats, unlike any other 
creature in the animal world ; and whenever 
they were out in the front garden and spied 
me at the open window they would run to 
the house, scale the porch, and, clinging with 
claws and twisting their elastic bodies round, 
get on to its roof; then with a flying leap 
on to a narrow ledge of the window and, 
after doubling another dangerous corner, 
jump into the room* 

But Tom, albeit a town -bred indoor cat, 
in appearance a tame domestic animal with 
nothing but the sight of wild birds coming to 
be fed to keep the tiger burning bright in 
htm, was at bottom a primitive — a savage ; 
and being of that nature his manners lacked 
polish. When he played he scratched ; his 
way of asking to be fed was by digging his 
claws into my leg, and when the plate was 
set on the floor he would greedily monopolize 
it. Puss, withdrawing a little space, would 
look at him, then at me ( and only when I 
pushed or dragged him back would she 
advance and begin to eat in her nice fastidious 

Here I will relate a little incident which 
brought out the difference in character 
between them very strongly. In the spring 
I left and was absent for six months. On 
the day of my return I sat conversing with 
my landlady when Puss made her appear- 
ance at the door and, seeing me, came to a 
sudden stop on the threshold ; then, after 
staring at me for two or three seconds, she 
dashed across the room and, jumping on to 
my knee, began vigorously licking my hand ! 
It was an action one would expect in a dog 
of an affectionate disposition and with a 
memory good enough to recognize an old 
friend quickly after a long absence ; but so 
rare in a creature so subtle, distant, ^cold, and 

self-centred as the cat as to seem incredible — * 
almost unnatural. 

By and by Tom made his appearance and, 
after regarding me attentively for a few 
seconds, sat down quietly to listen to the 
conversation, which however didn't appear 
to interest him much. It would not have 
surprised me if he had yawned. 

When feeding the cats it amused me to 
play on the nerviness of Puss by dropping a 
pinch of salt or powdered sugar on her back 
without allowing her to detect me doing it. 
This would startle her and she would stare 
all round to ascertain the cause. Then, when 
she began to eat again, another pinch, which 
would alarm her still more. A third little 
shower falling on her back would make her 
dash right to the other end of the room, 
when she would stand glaring about her for 
some time; then, gradually recovering 
courage, but still suspicious, she would return 
to the plate. But a fourth pinch of salt 
would be too much for her, and, jumping up, 
she would tear out of the room and down the 
stairs and keep away for half an hour or 

When I tried the experiment on Tom he 
paid no attention : he was too well occupied 
with his food to look up or to shake the sugar 
off. Once, to see how much he would stand, 
I continued dropping salt on him until it 
was finished 
and then went 
on with the 
sugar, until 
his whole up- 
per part from 
head to tail 
was white in- 
stead of black, 
and still no 
movement, un- 
t il he had 
finished eat- 
ing ; then he 
quietly moved 
away, shook 
the powder 




were busily engaged picking them up, the cat would begin hi* siaik." 



Do Cats Think ? 

off, and settled down for a nap by the 

If Puss ever divined that I was to blame 
in the matter — that I had caused the ex- 
cruciating pinches of salt to fall on her — as no 
doubt Tom with his superior intelligence did f 
it caused no break in our pleasant relations; 
but there was another matter about which 
we were in perpetual disagreement. 

It was perhaps but a part or a result of 
her nervy temperament that caused her to 
take an intense, an almost painful, interest 
in any person and in everything going on in 
the house. Thus, if a ring or knock came 
at the front door, she would jump up and 
rush downstairs to see who the caller was, 
who was answering the knock, and what it 
was all about. And it was the same if she 
heard the voices of persons talking down- 
stairs or anywhere in the house : she must go 
and see about it. As these goings and com- 
ings were very frequent she needed an open 
door, and often, when it was cold or the 
window was open and I didn't want a draught 
in the room, I would shut it. Then there 
would be a great to-do : Puss would run to 
the door, examine it, and run back to me to 
inform me that it was closed, then back to 
the door again, and so on until I would go 
and open it and let her out. But she wished 
to be in, not out, and so would begin scratch- 
ing and mewing until I opened to her again. 
But she would not consent to remain with 
the door closed. Eventually we com- 
promised by having the door closed, but not 
tightly, so that with her claws she could 
catch the edge of the wood and pull the 
door open herself when the door -bell or 
some sound made it necessary for her to 
go out. 

But as there were times when I would not 
consent to this arrangement and resolutely 
kept the door shut tightly, there was never 
an end to our quarrel — it is going on still. 
And she is still trying to make me understand 
her and do exactly what she wants me to do 
without blundering the thing. One could 
put her requests and pleadings and ex- 
postulations into words : " Do you know 
that you have again shut the door so that I 
can't get my claws in the wood to pull it 
open for myself ? What am I to do if a 
ring at the bell should come now ? How 
many, many times have I explained to you 
that the door must not be shut tight — that 
it prevents me from running out at a 
moment's notice to see to things ? Are you 
so hopelessly lacking in intelligence that you 
cannot yet understand it ? " 

I cannot but believe that this cat is 
capable of thought — that our lasting quarrel 
about the door would have quickly ended if 
I had resolutely closed it against her wish at 
the first. But she distinctly recognizes that 

I am master of the door and that it is only 
through me that she can have it in the 
position she desires, and that as I have 
frequently shown myself obedient to her wish 
she can only look on my act in shutting it 
tight as a blunder — a piece of stupidity on 
my part. 

The good old phrase of " dumb animals " 
has fallen into discredit since we made the 
discovery that animals are not dumb but 
have a language (all except the earthworms 
and slugs) by means of which they com- 
municate with one another. It is, however, a 
limited language designed to express a few 
and simple things — desires and emotions in 
sounds familiar and easily understood, since 
they never vary. Thus, the cat's mewing, 
with but slight changes in tone, is her only 
way of telling you, or another cat, that she 
wants something, but what that something 
is she leaves you or the other cat to find 

Now, when I consider the cat I have been 
writing about in her anxious strivings to 
make me understand her wants, and her 
manifest puzzlement and astonishment at 
my failure to respond to her demands when 
it does not suit my pleasure to do so, I can 
only compare her to a deaf and dumb person 
who has been taught little or nothing and 
has nothing but a few comprehensible signs 
with which to communicate with those around 
him. He is cut off by silence from us, but 
as he is one of our species and we know that 
thought is before speech and exists inde- 
pendent of speech, and that thought is a 
function of the human brain, we know that 
he thinks. In like manner, reading the 
mind of this cat as well as I am able, I come 
to the conclusion that she thinks — albeit her 
thoughts may be very few and very simple 
compared with those of any human being 
above the age of four or five, and even with 
those of a person born deaf and dumb. 


AtADY in Kensington, a cat-lover, has 
favoured me with an account of one 
of her many pets which seems well 
worth recording. 

It came about by chance that a pup, a 
very few days old, was sent to the house by 
a friend, and that the gift of a kitten, whose 
blue surprised eyes had not long been opened, 
was received at nearly the same time. My 
informant and her mother and sister were 
delighted to get them both, as they were 
wanting both a dog and a cat, and now they 
would be reared from babyhood together 
and would become familiar with each other's 
ways and live in harmony. And it all turned 
out just as they had hoped. Kittie and pup 
slept together in one bed, fed from the same 
saucer and plsite, and their whole time 


W. H. Hudson 


when they were not sleeping was spent in 

When full grown the cat was very small 
and the dog about two-thirds the size of a 
collie, so that there was a considerable 
discrepancy in their sizes, but this made no 
difference in their companionship and games 
together ■ and both were singularly gentle, 
nice -mannered, and good-tempered animals. 

When Pussy came of age she had an affair 
on one of her evening strolls, and later, 
when her time came near, she all at once 
became excessively anxious as to the proper 
place for her expected family. Every room 
in the house, from basement to attics, was 
visited in turn and minutely examined. 
The ladies watched her movements with deep 
interest without interfering except to open 
closed doors for her when she returned again 
and again to reins pec t any room which had 
first attracted her. In due time the kittens 
came, and a day or two later Pussy 
came to the conclusion that they were 
not in the best room for them after 
all— that there was a better place in a 
room on the floor above, 

Now the queer part of the business 
comes in : she did not remove nor, so 
far as they saw, attempt to remove 
them herself, but immediately trotted 
off in search of her friend the dog, and 
he, well able from long custom to 
understand her, got up and followed 
her to the spot where the kittens were 
lying. Then, when he had looked at 
them, she started off to the upper room 
and he after her ; but seeing that he 
was following empty-handed, so to 
speak, she doubled back and returned 
to the kittens, and eventually, after 
two or three more false starts, he 
understood her and, picking 
up one of the kittens in lu£ 
mouth, followed her up the 
stairs to the new place, That 
was as far as 
his under- 
standing went, 
and she had 
again to con- 
duct him back 
to the others 
and repeat the 
whole per- 
formance, un- 
til in the end 
the kittens 
were all re- 
moved by the 
dog and she 
was happy in 
her new quar- 
ters . Bu t 
only for a 

day : it was not the ideal spot after 
all, and another removal had to be made* 
Again the dog was summoned and did it 
all again, with less trouble than on the 
first occasion. And again Pussy became 
dissatisfied and there was a third removal, 
and from first to last there were so many 
removals that the ladies lost count of their 

Now the instinct of the cat and of prac- 
tically all mammals in w T hich the young are 
born helpless and continue many days in 
that state is, when the parent desires to 
remove them to a safer or more suitable place, 
to pick them up in her mouth and remove 
them one by one herself. So ineradicable is 
this instinct that it persists in the dog after 
thousands of years of domestication! and we 
know that the cat's instincts are even less 
affected by such a state than the dog's. 
Why, then, in this case did she not obey so 



On the day of my return Puss dashed across the room and, jumping 
on to my knee, began vigorously licking my hand/* 

D y ijNTVERSiTY of Michigan 


Do Gats Think ? 

powerful an impulse instead of relegating the 
task to a dog, an animal of another species ? 
Bergson would perhaps suggest or say 
that it was intuition, an indefinable faculty 
higher than either instinct or reason. There 
is no such thing : there is nothing but reason 
and instinct, or inherited memory, to prompt 
the actions of all animals, from earthworm 
and emmet to elephant. The only possible 
explanation of the cat's actions is that she 
found herself powerless, probably after trial, 
to accomplish the task herself ; that she 
then remembered her friend the dog, men- 
tally visualizing him as a big strong creature 
with a big mouth to carry, and remembering 
also that he was obedient to her and quick 
to respond to her wishes. And she accord- 
ingly went to him for help, and he being by 
chance exceptionally intelligent did not fail 
her, although we cannot say that his reason- 
ing powers were equal to hers. Her action 
undoubtedly shows reasoning of a higher 
kind than that of the cat described in the 
first part, though that too was reasoning. 
His impulse was to dash at the bird, but in 
the pause before it could be made he listened 
to the still small voice of the higher faculty 
telling him that he would fail again as he had 
failed many times before, and the small voice 


THE fact of telepathy is now familiar by 
that name to everybody. But authentic 
instances of telepathy between man and 
animals are rare, and are confined to our 
domestic animals that rank highest in the 
scale of nature. Most cases are concerned 
with the dog, as, for example, the very 
remarkable one related some years ago by 
Sir Rider Haggard in the Times. An even 
more remarkable case of telepathic com- 
munication between man and horse — an old 
Sussex squire and his favourite cob — is given 
by M. A. Lower, author of " Sussex 
Worthies," in his miscellany entitled " Con- 
tributions to Literature." 

That such cases should be extremely rare is 
only what might be expected, seeing that 
when it is undoubtedly a telepathic message, 
explicable in no other way, as when it pro- 
duces a phantasm of the living, as it is called, 
it can emanate only from a mind in extreme 
distress or agony, or in a moment of deadly 
peril or suffering, and often enough at the 
moment of death. Again, we know that in 
these instances of extreme agitation there 
must always be a close bond of affection 
between sender and recipient, such as may 
exist between two close friends or near and 
dear relations, and, as we also know, can and 
does often exist between a human being and 
a favourite or pet animal in the higher 

That such communication between mind 
and mind — brain-waves as they are some- 
times called — should be possible between 
man and animals is but a further proof 
that they are, mentally, very near to us; 
that their brains function even as ours do, 
far as we have risen above them in all mental 

Here, then, in conclusion of the article, I 
will give the first case of telepathy, as 1 
consider it, I have met with between human 
being and cat. 

The person concerned is the late Mrs. 
Barry, wife of the late Bishop Barry, and 
the account of what took place was written 
by Lady Alderson at Mrs. Barry's dictation. 
Mr. Ralph Alderson in looking over his late 
mother's papers found it, and has passed it 
on to me to make what use of it I wish, and 
I accordingly transcribe it here. 

" In 1891 we left Knapdale to take up our 
residence in The Cloisters at Windsor. For 
some time before I had a favourite black 
cat who had the distinction of not possessing 
a single white hair. She was unusually 
attached to me on account of my having 
saved her life from a dog, just two minutes 
before her first kitten was born — she had 
only one. The shock to the poor thing was 
so great that it was with difficulty I saved 
her life, and her terror at every sound was so 
pitiful that I gave up a small empty room to 
her and her kitten, locking her in, and 
allowing no one to go near but myself. I 
waited on her for a whole month, until she 
quieted down and allowed her kitten to $ee 
the world. Ever after when she had kittens 
she had the same attack of nerves and 
required my undivided attention. We were 
living then in an interesting old manor- 
house which had belonged to Oliver Crom- 
well. His daughter, Mrs. Ireton, was said 
to haunt the gallery : the house has always 
had the reputation of being haunted. I 
feel I ought to mention this, although I do 
not know whether it could in any way have 
affected the cat. 

" After the Bishop's appointment up 1o 
the time of our removal the cat was much 
on my mind, as I dreaded the change and 
disturbance for her which all ordinary cats 
without nerves hate. But the gardener was 
left in the house, to take charge of it 
for a new tenant, so I made special arrange- 
ments that the cat should remain in his 
care with good board wages till I was 
quite settled, when I was to write for it and 
he would see her safely on her journey to 

" Time went on, and I did not worry about 
my cat and was waiting until all was ready, 
when one night I had a dream. I was 
walking — as I thought — in the garden at 
Knapdale, in a path under the wall, which 

W. H. Hudson 


was a favourite place of mine and where the 
black cat used to follow me up and down, 
when I heard a piteous cry, and looking up 
saw my Puss, standing on the top of the wait, 
in lamentable plight, evidently starved to 
death and very weak. I awoke much 
disturbed, but went to sleep again, and this 
appearance of the cat came to me three times 
that night. 

" In the morning I told the Bishop that I 
intended to go off 
immediately to fetch 
my cat. He did 
his best to dis- 
suad e me 

occurred to me to go and walk under the 
wall I had seen in my dream, and which the 
cat had no doubt always associated with 
me, and call her. In a few minutes I saw 
a wild, haggard face appear, gazing at me as 

" Eventually the dog understood, and, picking up one of the kittens in his mouth, 

followed her up the stairs/' 

from doing so, as he said I could telegraph to 
the gardener and the cat would arrive without 
any trouble. But I could not feel satisfied, 
and started off immediately after breakfast, 
" On my arrival at Knapdale I found the 
house in the possession of workmen. On 
entering no gardener was to be seen, and no 
cat, Filled with anxiety, I asked every man 
I met if a black cat had been seen, but with 
no result. At last a woman in a house near 
by told me that the gardener had been 
dismissed summarily, and being no doubt 
unwilling I should know it had departed and 
left the cat to its fate. This woman had 
heard the poor thing crying and had tried 
to get at it and give it milk, but it was always 
terrified and too wild to come near her. It 

if it could not believe the evidence of its 
senses, then down she came and rushed into 
my arms, and clung to me frantically. I 
carried her into the room we both remem- 
bered, and found her nothing but skin and 
bone and very weak. I went into the village 
and fed her with milk and fish, bought a 
hamper into which she crawled of her own 
accord, and during the many hours 1 journey 
home she lay quite still and purred whenever 
I stroked her. She took a fancy to her new 
home and settled down at once. 

u This story is perfectly true ; who can 
explain the fact of the cat spirit being able 
to make an impression on a human spirit 
so as to induce me to act as I did and only 

just in time to save her life ? " 
[Mr, Hudson will be pleased to receive anecdotes of our rtqt^^.ppis^ which- ftp. mill forward,] 






one, nurse, 
grinned the in- 
valid. + 'Tell 
them the same 
old tale, please/' 

Nurse Duncan 
smiled as she 
moved noise* 
lessly to the tele- 
phone standing 
on a small table 
by the bedside of Full -Stop 
Mortimer, smiled and shook 
her head in gentle reproof, 
" It's awfully hard not to 
tell lies/ 1 she said. 

" Don't worry. The Re- 
cording Angel will put them 
all down to me. But up to 
now you've been so clever 
that the score-sheet's blank. Who's this 
new disturber of my morning peace, I 
wonder ? " 

At the 'phone the nurse was quickly getting 
to grips with the truth. " Who is that — 
Mr. Wain wright ? " (" Oh, my Lord, Wain- 
wrightl" from the bed. ''He'll want some 
handling ! Stick it, nurse, stick it ! ") '* Mr. 
Wain wright of England ? Mr. Roger Wain- 
wright ? Well, yes, but what do you want ? 
Mr. Wainwright of the MX.C. ? What's 
that — a foot regiment ? No, of course not, 
Mounted Camel Corps. Beg pardon, cricket 

club. Oh, yes, but what do you- speak to 

Mr. Mortimer ? I'm sorry, that's impossible. 
Quite. I said quite ! He must on no ac- 
count be disturbed. I'm afraid not 3 Strict- 
est orders. Whose orders ? My orders. 
I'm the nurse in charge- Good-bye ! " The 
receiver went back on its hook with a very 
conclusive click. " And now, Mr. Mortimer, 
if you will kindly remove your pipe from 
your mouth, I will very gladly take your 

Mortimer gave forth the heartiest roar 
that patient ever let loose in a sick room. 





1 * Temperature be 
hanged!" he 
cried, lr If you 
must make out 
your silly old 
chart, shove it 
down as one 
hundred and 
seven not out. 
I'm fit enough 
to swim the 
Channel ! " 

1 In that case 
my services are not needed. 
But before I go I should 
like to say that if you think 
it a joke to drag a woman 
out of her bed at two in 
the morning to come and 

nurse a- 

' I'm sorry, nurse. 
Honestly, absolutely sorry. 
But it's no joke, no jape of any kind. It's 
about the most serious thing that can 
happen to a fellow. I needed you last night. 
I need you nqw, every bit as much perhaps 
as if I were almost kicking the bucket. 
We've been so busy answering the 'phone 
that we've had no time to look at the 
morning papers, but if Wragg has brought 
them in — oh, yes, they're there, look — a 
glance may give you some hint of the excite- 
ment, I wouldn't mind a bit of a peep at 
'em myself, nurse, if you think I'm well 
enough ! " 

She crossed the room and took up the 
Daily Wire. Her first concern, not perhaps 
unnaturally, was the agony column, but this 
proving unfruitful she scanned page after 
page with the steady, deliberate scrutiny 
women accord to newspapers. 

H * Try the sporting page," growled Morti- 
mer, and devoted his complete attention to 
lighting his refilled pipe. 

Nurse Duncan discovered the racing news, 
learnt that favourites failed at lingfield, 
noticed without a thrill the day's programme 

at Hur of-jMi^ra«.* caused the 

Reeves Shaw 


abandonment of many cricket matches, and 
then cried : — - 

" Oh, is this it ? ,f 

M Yes, that's it. What does it say ? * 

** It's all in big headlines. * Sodden illness 
of Mr. K, H. Mortimer/ And they've got a 
portrait of you, * Unable to play in to-day's 
Test Match. Severe blow to England* 
Exclusive. 1 ** 

"That's right — exclusive. Wragg rang 
'em up at the same time as he 'phoned the 
Nursing Home for you. Smart paper, the 
Wire ; they rattled it pretty quick into their 
London edition/' 

Molly Duncan came 
to the foot of the bed 
and leaned on the 
curved wooden rail. 
There was anger in 
her brown eyes ; con- 
tempt in the curve 
of her moufh. Mor- 
timer tried another 
match for his already 
blazing tobacco, and 
put up a smoke- 
screen which served 
but very little pur- 
pose. Still, a man 
must do something, 

* * You mean to say, ' ' 
said N urse Duncan, 
very slowly, " that 
you have been chosen 
to play for England, 
that all the world is 
expecting you to do 
so f and that you are 
trying to get out of 
it by shamming ill- 
ness ? " 

Mortimer coughed. 
It was only an over- 
dose of nicotine, but 
he fervently hoped it 
would sound a little 
like pneumonia. 

"Yes, that's it. 
Sounds rot ten, doesn't 
it ? But it's abso- 
lutely necessary. 
Absolutely, on my 
honour, I ' d give any - 
thing to play to-day ; 
anything to get the 
chance of knocking 
that Australian stuff 
all over the field. A 
dream of my life's 
gone west — a dream 
for which I've worked 
a whole summer. I 
came into county 
cricket this year 

1 The beat gentleman 

with the one idea of catching the eye of 
their majesties the selectors. I toured all 
over England for Sussex, playing dismal 
games in dismal towns, merely to pile up the 
few necessary centuries and take the few 
wickets required to advertise myself. There 
was no Henley, no Ascot, no jolly jaunts in 
little yachts, no idle holidays at all. Every- 
thing was sacrificed to this one desire — to 
help old England get back the Ashes, And 
now 1 can't do it ; now all I shall know of 
the match is what the papers tell rae. And 
if we lose — God, if we lose ! Does it sound 

like a joke ? ,J 

" But w T hy not sim- 
ply tell them that you 
don't want to play ? 
I mean ' that circum- 
stances have arisen, 
etc,/ and so on. Why 
all this fuss ? " 

Because anything 
short of a point-of- 
death scare would 
send 'em howling 
mad ; this staid old 
inn would be invaded 
by a yelling mob of 
athletic dervishes, 
There'd be Wain- 
wright himself, and 
probably Keith, half- 
a-dozen of the Thugs, 
a small battalion of 
Old Vaughanians, and 
a squalling squad of 
nephews and possibly 
nieces. And all in 
anger, mark you* 
They'd nose me out 
wherever I hid myself; 
and if they didn't 
drag me by main 
force to the Oval, 
they'd stop with me 
all day to know the 
reason why. They'd 
call me all the names 
they've called me be- 
fore, only this time 
they'd strengthen 'em 
a bit. You see, this 
isn't the first time," 

" You make a habit 
of not playing for 
England ? " 

** Oh, good Lord, 
no ! But I've ' disap- 
pointed ' 'em, as they 
call it, half-a-dozen 
times before. They 
gave me the label of 
-wlnlr^l 4**r Full-Stop Mortimer at 
bat in the kingdom/' n school, and it's done 



The Man Who Got Out 

duty ever since. I never could see why a 
fellow wanted to go on doing things in public 
which he'd shown to himself he could do. 
Not unless he wanted to swank. There are 
such a lot of other things a chap wants to 
try his strength at. They popped that Full- 
Stop tag on me at Vaughan because I let the 
chap I beat in the heavies box for the school 
at .Aldershot. He won, so what did it 
matter ? I got a Soccer blue at Cambridge, 
and then because I decided to go in for 
Rugger there was a devil of a noise. It 
beats me why a man keeps continually doing 
the thing he knows he can. Take golf, for 
instance. Where's the fun in going round 
time after time in seventy-five ? When 
you get like that you ought to see if 
you can do it left-handed, or try badminton 
or something. Keeping on keeping on's a 
yawn of a business. I'm a heretic, I know, 
and perhaps it's by way of punishment for 
my creed that I'm not allowed to play in the 
one game I want to. But I simply mustn't." 

The door opened, and Mortimer's servant 
appeared. " Well, Wragg, what is it ? " 

" Lady Cynthia Acton is here, sir, and 
insists on remaining until she is better 
satisfied — her own words, sir — regarding 
your health. I have done my best, sir, but 
Lady Cynthia refuses to go. Begging your 
pardon, sir, but Lady Cynthia is a little 

Mortimer smiled. Wragg, with all his 
diplomacy and tact, could not hope to beat 
down the wilfulness of Lord Blaysdale's 
younger daughter. " Bf the way, what about 
those telephone messages, Wragg ? " 

" I've 'phoned them all, sir. Mr. Bus well 
is at Deauville ; Mr. Reggie Cheape still at 
Cowes ; Mr. Worthington Paine in Scotland, 
sir, for the grouse. The dog days, you 
know, sir." 

" No one to come to me in my hour of 
need. That's my last chance gone, nurse. 
I must get worse, rapidly worse. What do 
you suggest about Lady Cynthia, Wragg ? " 

" It occurred to me, sir, that if some 
ocular evidence of your — of your indisposition 
could be provided it might have the desired 
effect. If, for example, nurse would go to 
Lady Cynthia and personally describe the 
symptoms which most alarm " 

" Excellent I Nurse, I wonder if you 
would ? You must, if my little scheme is 
to succeed. Will you, please ? " /* 

Nurse Duncan had evidently not quite" 
made up her mind whether she was assisting 
in a righteous cause or not. It was several 
seconds before she replied, and doubtless 
the lure of playing a winning hand against 
another woman exercised its inevitable 
attraction upon her. 

" As it's the last thing I shall be called 
upon to do for you, I'll do it," she said. 

" Kindly take me to Lady Cynthia, Mr. 

" Now what in the world does she mean 
by that ? " pondered Mortimer, as the door 
closed behind the two. He reached for the 
Racing Stable, and settled back comfortably 
on the pillows. Apparently his interest in 
the racing news was not catholic, for, his 
ears alert for any signs of Lady Cynthia's 
departure, his eyes continued to gaze at a 
most insignificant paragraph which stated 
that " Will be sold by auction, with or 
without engagement. Romping Home, be- 
lieved sound, a good winner, without reserve, 
engaged in the Leiston Handicap to-day." 
The minutes dragged on, but no sound of 
closing doors gave the welcome notice of 
Lady Cynthia's departure. 

SUDDENLY a shadow fell across the bed, 
and casually Mortimer's eyes looked up 
from the paper. In half a* second the 
Racing Stable had collapsed on the counter- 
pane; his pipe, leaving a trail of ashes 
across the sheets, had rolled to the floor, and 
he himself was under the bedclothes, with 
but one eye alone in furtive action. 

But he might have saved himself all the 
trouble. Alan Acton, the fourteen-year- 
old brother of Cynthia, his head and shoulders 
shoved through the wide-open window, his 
body supported on the rungs of a painter's 
long ladder — Mortimer had overlooked the: 
fact that the man next door was having his 
chambers redecorated — had seen everyfliingf : 
paper, pipe, and panic. 

Beneath the bedclothes Mortkper waited 
for the case for the prosecution to commence,; \ 
he did not expect to get off lightly, for.l&br' 
had been boasting to all his chums about Jlis' 
comradeship with the best gentleman bat in 
the kingdom. Mortimer hoped for nothing 
more than that Alan wouldn't scathe for 
ever ; he'd like to get it over before nurse 
came back. 

Alan was in no hurry to say anything at 
all ; he made no attempt to enter the room, 
but remained on his perch obviously thinking 
of the really correct thing to remark. 
Mortimer neither stirred nor hoped. 

Then it came. Clear and slow, with just 
that little bit of venom that shut teeth and a 
curl of the upper lip impart. 

" Dirt I " 

The head and shoulders disappeared down- 
wards, their owner well content with the 
value obtained for the shilling he had given 
the painter-man to shift his ladder. 

Mortimer sat up. He felt properly whip- 
ped. If Alan had said a lot it wouldn't have 
hurt so much ; a slanging never had bothered 
him. But that one word hurt. The kid 
must have been feeling it pretty deeply to 
let it go at that. 


Reeves Shaw 


Look here, Cynthia.' broke in Morti.-ner, ' I am not going to the Oval — 1 am officially 

dangerously ill,*" 

Jigitizetf rjy Vjiuugic UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN 


The Man Who Got Out 

Nurse Duncan appeared again, cloaked 
and bonneted. Without any sign of in- 
terest she retrieved the pipe from the floor 
and handed it to Mortimer. " Lady Cynthia 
has gone, and I'm going. Owing to the 
alleged seriousness of this case a day nurse 
was of course arranged for as well. She will 
now take up her duties, but I scarcely think 
it advisable for me to meet her and explain 
the peculiar difficulties of your case." 

" Good heavens, I can't go through it all 
with another nurse ! Besides, it's no longer 
necessary," he added, gloomily. 

"I'm afraid it cannot be helped." 

" It can be helped easily enough. I shall 
not let her in ! " 

" She is already in. As I was packing my 
bag in the spare room I heard your servant 
admit her. I slipped in here quickly to 
avoid her, and I must go at once while she 
is taking off her bonnet and cloak. Good- 
bye ! " 

FIVE minutes passed before the new nurse 
felt it necessary to visit the sick room. 
In that five minutes Mortimer wrestled 
with the problem and found himself a bad 
second to Solomon. There was no wisdom 
left anywhere in him. He hadn't foreseen 
half the things he ought to have foreseen to 
make a good job of it. That curtain left 
undrawn across the window — the carelessness 
of not anticipating the relief nurse ! — what 
would this second nurse be like ? he wondered. 
He couldn't explain all over again, anyhow. 
She would have to go in a temper if she 
wasn't the sort to take a joke properly. 

There came a firm tap on the door, and 
the new nurse entered. She seemed a 
nervous kind of a woman. Or stealthy. 
One of the two. She crossed to the window 
and drew the curtains. Too late, thought 
Mortimer, bitterly. He was lying on his 
side, so he could not see her. Still she was 
very quiet, and his patience gave out. He 
turned gently on his back. She was at the 
dressing-table, toying with the things upon 
it, her back towards him. A tall, fine- 
looking woman. Graceful shoulders. Jolly 
funny nurse, though, not to want to have a 
look at her patient. Oh, perhaps she thought 
he was asleep. He'd settle that quickly. 
A swift end to all this pretence business. 
One sharp knock, and then see how she'd 
take it. 

" Nurse ! " 

" Yes ? " 

" I'd like a whisky and soda." 

" Ring the bell for Wragg and you shall 
have it." 

Mortimer nearly broke a blood-vessel. 
" Cynthia ! " he cried 

" That's one of the very few good guesses 
you've made this morning. May I ask 

when you are going to get up ? The 
car's outside waiting to take you to the 
Oval, and there's very little time. If we 
lose the toss " 

" Look here, Cynthia," broke in Mortimer; 
" there are one or two things I don't under- 
stand, and there are six or seven that you 
don't. The principal of the latter are 
that I am not going to the Oval, that I am 
officially dangerously ill with homicidal 
tendencies, and that you cannot remain here. 
You simply can't. It's positively monstrous. 
A young and beautiful woman like you 
breaking into the bedroom of an entirely 
unhealthy young man, to whom you're not 
even temporarily engaged. I don't know 
how the devil you got here ! " 

" Brains, Morty, brains ! And, with or 
without engagement, I'm stopping. You're 
not half clever enough for this shamming 
stunt, Morty. Neville told me it was very 
nearly one o'clock last night when he left 
you, and that you were then showing no 
signs hopeful to the undertaker. Then " 

" Oh, Neville did, did he ? " 

" Then when I called this morning with 
anxious inquiries I wrung from Wragg the 
knowledge that you had been coughing all 
night, while a few minutes later the nurse 
informed me that you had been unconscious 
all the time. Add to this the small fact that 
I noticed the 'phone was plugged through 
to your bedroom, which isn't usually done 
if a patient needs peace and quiet, and the 
rest is easy. Hop 336, please," she asked 
the exchange. 

" What's that ? " inquired Mortimer, 

" The Oval. If there were time to spare 
I'd ask you why you were doing this back- 
sliding business. But explanations will keep. 
Hallo, is that the Oval ? Will you please 
tell Mr. Wainwright that Mr. Mortimer- 
shut up, Morty ! — will be ready to play in 
half an hour ? You're very glad ? A speedy 
recovery ? Very ! Good-bye. And now, 
Morty, what about it ? " 

" It can't be done. You're making it 
devilish awkward for me, you know. I say, 
Cynthia, how did you get in here, uniform 
and all ? " 

" Luck, laddie — pure, blind luck, with a 
dash of the aforementioned brains. As I 
was so unceremoniously bundled out by your 
minions, whom should I meet coming into 
the courtyard but Kitty Dale, who taught 
me all the nursing I ever learned in '17. A 
good sport and a good pal, Kitty. In two 
half ticks I learnt that she was coming here 
to nurse you. In three more she was in 
the car with me, listening to my little 
yarn. A quick-change act in the car with 
me, and here T a:irc. Did you notice I 

puUed L^ffl^FTOIffiff when you 

Reeves Shaw 


asked for a whisky and soda ? You did ? 
That was the signal to Kitty to say that all 
was well. She was a trifle worried." 

The telephone bell rang, and a long arm 
stretched out from the bed to grasp the 
instrument. But Cynthia was there first. 

" Yes, these are Mr. Mortimer's chambers 
— yes, thank you, I'll tell him. Mr. Alan 
Acton, you say ? All right." She turned 
to Mortimer. " My brother Alan wishes the 
nurse in charge to tell Mr. Mortimer that 
England have won the toss and are going to 
bat. That's lucky. It gives us half an hour 
or so longer." 

» But " 

" There isn't a - but ' left in the whole 
business. I'm giving you just ten minutes 
to set your brain in order. Then I shall 
begin to put in action the menace of sanc- 
tions, or whatever they call 'em. I warn 
you I shall go right through with the job. I 
shall stay here till you do get up, no matter 
if it's this morning or at three a.m. the 
day after the day after to-morrow. And I 
sha'n't care if mamma or papa and the editor 
of London Spite do make a week or two's 
noise about it. Me versus Mortimer has 
begun ! " 

Mortimer realized that the time of words 
was past ; action was now required, but just 
what particular brand of action he could not 
quite see. Cynthia seemed perfectly happy 
and confident ; she had moved the telephone, 
which was to be her staunchest ally, to the 
dressing-table, where it was safely out of 
Mortimer's way, and she was now very 
busily and very needlessly re-arranging two 
or three brace of perfectly well-disciplined 
hairs. The summons of the telephone bell 
interrupted this pastime, and listening at the 
receiver she heard Alan's voice again : — 

" England — six for one. Hobbs — out, six. 
Mortimer is number five on the card/ 9 

She repeated the message aloud, and, 
white with anger, turned upon Mortimer. 
Gone now was her pleasant air of mistress of 
the ceremonies ; gone now, too, her humour 
and her pose of patience. Alan's brief 
message of disaster had stirred the tempest 
in her, had changed her temper and her 

" England, six for one ! And you, third 
wicket down, lie there and listen and laugh 
at the jolly good joke you're playing ! Well, 
laugh ! You won't have me for audience. 
I'm finished with the joke ; it's a bit too 
grim for me. It's the end of a dream, too, 
the end of a man I thought was a man. 
There's one last chance, if you want it. I'll 
wait eight minutes in the car for you ; if 
you're down by then, all ready in your 
flannels, I'll drive you to the Oval, perhaps 
in time. Or you can turn over and go to 
sleep, whichever you like. 

A LITTLE over seven minutes later K. H. 
Mortimer, with fifteen seconds and his 
boots in hand, jumped into the waiting 
car. Cynthia was herself again. 

" Unconditional ? " she asked, smiling. 

" Not quite. The one condition is that I 
can have this car at any time I want it this 
afternoon. Agreed ? Thanks. Do you 
mind if I put my boots on ? Eight minutes 
is not really quite long enough for a full-sized 
man to dress. And answering the 'phone 
cost me something like twenty seconds." 

" The 'phone ? " 

"A bit more of the gloomy Alan. Some- 
body else has crept back to the pavilion for 
something under ten. I s'pose Gregory's 
making 'em bump a bit. I'm next man in, 
so I hope there won't be any more mishaps 
for a minute or two." 

They were south of the river now, twisting 
and bumping about between tramcars and 
brewers' drays. A matter of four minutes 
and they would be at the Oval ; ten, and 
Mortimer would be gloved and padded. 
Cynthia's light hand fell upon his arm. 

" You haven't told me yet why you've 
been playing the fool," she said. 

" I'm coming to dinner to-night," he 
answered. " I'll tell you then, if you don't 
go back on your word about this car. It's a 
promise, isn't it ? " 

" Of course ! We're there ! " she cried, 
triumphantly. " Now run like mad, and 
the best of luck ! " 

He passed through the little door at the 
back of the huge pavilion, ran up the stairs, 
and hurried through the great windowed 
room that overlooks the playing field. The 
steady silence of the tremendous crowd told 
its tale ; England were battling grimly 
again, fighting against misfortune as severe 
as it was early. A glance at the score -board 
— twenty-four* for two — and Mortimer's 
shoulder pushed open the dressing-room 

" Hallo, Wainwright ! Why arrayed so 
completely for the wicket ? I thought mine 
was the next knock ? " 

The face of England's captain would have 
sent wild with despair a conscientious film 
producer, who loves nothing but continuity 
of expression. Wainwright had half a 
second to decide once and for all whether 
Mortimer was friend or foe, whether he had 
been playing the goat with Serious Cricket 
or whether he had dragged himself from a 
bed of death to save the side from defeat and 
disgrace, whether a punch on the head or an 
emotional embrace about the knees should 
be his portion. And Wainwright failed dis- 
mally to pass judgment. 

4 Good God ! " was all he could find to 
say. Wherein he was wise : many an 
English skip^ h^j^^uch. 


The Man Who Got Out 

Others crowded round, besieging Mortimer 
with questions. Laughingly, he answered 
them, strapping on his pads. The more 
curious, the more insistent, commenced to 
put him through the third degree almost, 
and the red light shone from his eyes. But 
a groan from the crowd — that long, low, 
rumbling sob of Surrey which tells that a 

old son ! I'll make vou laugh if I have any 

They gave him a tired cheer as he made 
his long walk to the wicket. There was not 
a lot of hope left in the crowd ; thirty-eight 
for three, on a pitch as good as they make 
them. They didn't know Mortimer as they 
knew T Hobbs and Hendren and D, J. Knight 

A wonderful catch, they called it in the papers. Nobody called it a wonderful 

good man has gone — scattered them. Mor- 
timer carefully selected a bat, glanced at 
Wain wright's anxious face, and came close 
to him. 

r " Will eighty do, old man ? M he said, very 
quietly, so none but Wainwright heard, 

" Eh ? Oh, don't be a fool I We want 
all you can get/' 

" I can only get eighty. But won't that 
make you smile a bit ? Cheer up, Clump, 

and other giants — Londoners themselves, 
A friendly cheer, but not that gallant roar 
which greets the idol. They hoped a little, 
but gloom was in their hearts. 

Mortimer played his first ball, the last M 
the over, slowly between point and cover. 
" Come ! * J he shouted, and the steady " pro " 
at the other end woke up with a jerk and 
ran for his life* Safely home, he looked 
towards the newcomer in faint rebuke. 


Reeves Shaw 


Mortimer raised his bat in a gesture of mild 
apology, and laughed. The crowd saw the 
Iaugh F and liked it, Here was a man with a 
bit of nerve, a man who, however else he fell p 
would not frighten himself out. " F.H.O/' 
has more victims than " L.BAV/ 1 

Mortimer was no hurricane hitter like 
Jessop, but his style was free, and he wasted 

panic ; he refused to run* on occasion, the 
second run when it was purely a gift, " By 
gum/* commented a hundred someones in 
the crowd, " he's pinching the bowling I 
Pinching as sure as though the other bloke 
was number eleven instead of number three* 
By gum, he's got a nerve to do that with 
Yorkshire's best ! " 

stroke. Yet for artistry it appealed more to Mortimer than any other in his inning*/ 1 

no time to " play himself in/' A four off 
the third and a three from the last ball of 
the over showed that Gregory could be hit 
if the batsman knew how. A boundary and 
a single off the next over brought him facing 
the fast bowler again. 

And now Mortimer went mad. He took 
risks that w f ere obvious to a schoolboy. He 
insisted on short runs which put Wainwright 
and others greater than Wainwright into a 


But Yorkshire's best didn't mind. York- 
shire's best didn't understand, didn't guess 
for a moment that time was the essence of 
the contract. All that Yorkshire's best 
knew was that Mortimer w T as playing a 
mighty fine game, was rattling the bowling, 
and was taking a heap of responsibility from 
his own stolid shoulders. If Mortimer 
wanted Mm to mn, he'd run ; if Mortimer 

^fftfvf^'^teN" was e°° d Eun ' 


The Man Who Got Out 

and good cricket. Of course it might have 
been different if Mortimer hadn't smiled 
" Sorry ! " once as they patted the pitch 
between overs. 

They came in to lunch with thirty-nine to 
Mortimer's credit, and a dozen to Yorkshire's 
best. In front of the pavilion the crowd 
wrapped itself round Mortimer, the man who 
had not been afraid. Bit by bit they were 
beginning to like him ; it would be quite 
all right if it wasn't swank. Closer ac- 
quaintance assured them it was not swank, 
but ability, and judgment born of ability. 
Mortimer was the stuff all right, and if they 
couldn't gather that from Mortimer himself, 
they learnt it from the laughing, unmalicious 
eyes of Yorkshire's best as side by side the 
jkir barged through the now more happy 

People ate their lunches, talked Mortimer, 
and grew cheerful. When things are going 
better for the home side Kennington Oval 
is paradise enow, even though there are no 
boughs and Craig no longer supplies the 
verses. One boundary makes many an 
optimist, and Mortimer had reached the 
ropes a good half-dozen times. And his 
first stroke after lunch was a clip past cover 
that bit the fingers of the City clerk who 
tried to stop it at the fringe of the crowd. 

The game was as lively now as ever a 
match has been ; a sturdy roar greeted 
Mortimer's fifty, a yell of delight the clump 
off the googly-man which almost punched a 
hole through one of the revolving figures 
on the score-board. As fast as he could 
Mortimer was forcing the game, taking risks 
which were " altogether unjustifiable," so 
the long-faced critics said, but making the 
next-mi£n-in wish he were out there with 
him, dahcing along that strip of sunlit stage 
to the tune of Mortimer's bat. Next-man-in 
had been in a blue funk scarcely an hour 

Mortimer glanced at the clock, then at the 
score-board, which told the world that 
No. 5 had made sixty-six. Wild hopes of 
a century came to him ; he made a mental 
calculation and an on-drive to the pavilion 
steps. Seventy — running it too close to wait 
for the hundred. Hang it ! that was a good 
ball ; no hope of hitting it for a single. 
Oyer, and Yorkshire's best had got the 
bowling. He had promised eighty, but 
what fun to get a hundred! Might have 
been, too, if he could have had one more over 
from the googly chap. The Yorkshireman 
got the ball away to leg, and Mortimer was 
running down the pitch ; he turned for the 
easy second run, saw the outstretched, self- 
denying hand of his partner, and was almost 
tempted. A century — wouldn't Cynthia just 

love it ! A few fours, a six, perhaps 

But the run was easy, and the other man's. 

4< Come I " he called, and the dream was 
dead. A few minutes later Mortimer's 
innings was complete for history. A shot 
for three had twisted his score-roll round to 
eighty-one, and he faced the bowler for the 
last time. Down came the ball, the merest 
trifle wide of the off-stump. Mortimer knew 
where cover-point was, knew the pace at 
which his tireless wrists would slam the ball 
knee-high to the fieldsman. He struck : 
cover jumped scarcely a foot, wrapped both 
hands about the ball, flung it high into the 

A wonderful catch, they called it in the 
papers. Nobody called it a wonderful 
stroke. Yet for artistry it appealed more 
to Mortimer than any other in his innings. 

VERY few of the big racing crowd at 
Hurst Park that sunny Saturday after- 
noon were keenly interested in the sale 
of that very indifferent animal, Romping 
Home. Scarcely more than a score of the 
patrons of Tattersall's watched the horse as 
it was led round and round the tiny sale ring, 
while the auctioneer tried to flog the bidding 
into something approaching liveliness. 

*' A good horse, this, gentlemen. A likely 
winner. Nicely weighted in the Leiston 
Handicap to-day. One hundred guineas, 
did you say, sir ? Am selling this horse with 
or without engagement, and without reserve. 
Very useful animal ; bound to win a good 
race. Who'll say a hundred and ten ? 
Romping Home — sure to justify its name, 
gentlemen. A hundred guineas is all I'm 
bid. Worth double ! A hundred guineas is 
all I'm bid." The worthy gentleman, a little 
disheartened by the lack of response, began 
almost mechanically to utter the same mild 
eulogies again. He droned along conscien- 
tiously ; somebody yawned, and his audience 
dwindled . The future ownership of Romping 
Home was nothing to get excited about. 

At the right-hand side of the auctioneer's 
little box there quietly appeared a tall 
figure in white flannels partially concealed 
by a light overcoat. He watched for a few 
moments with steady eyes the calm parade 
of Romping Home, apparently studying the 
horse's points. 

" One hundred guineas is all I'm offered. 
I shall have to knock this down at one 
hundred guineas if " 

" A hundred and fifty ! " 

The auctioneer woke up ; his eloquence 
had evidently borne fruit. 

" Sixty ! " 

" Eighty ! " quietly from Mortimer, and 
glancing across the tiny enclosure he had 
the satisfaction of seeing his rival swear. 
But he went to two hundred, and Mortimer, 
to show he really m&vnl business, clapped 
on a further fifty, The man who had nearly 

Reeves Shaw 


secured Romping Home for a hundred 
guineas made a frantic effort to size Mortimer 
up. Would it be better to back out of the 
duel and try to treat privately afterwards ? 
He thought Mortimer looked a reasonable 
sort of a chap, but he couldn't be sure. He 
ventured another twenty guineas while he 
was making up his mind, but Mortimer's 
" Three hundred ! " finished him. Ere the 
auctioneer had quite completed his little ritual, 
Mortimer, feeling a touch on his sleeve, 
turned to see the disappointed bidder beside 

" Congratulations ! " said the stranger. 
" It's a stiff price, but I think he's worth it. 
You'll be winning the Leiston Handicap with 
him within an hour." 

" I'll be not!" 

" Let me assure you it's a real good thing 
for your horse. I wanted to buy him 
specially on account of his prospects in this 
engagement. I tell you what I'll do. I'll 
give you a hundred to stand in as part-owner 
till to-morrow. If he wins we share stake- 
money, of course." 

" Go to blazes, Carrington ! You are Car- 
rington, aren't you ? Romping Home does 
not run to-day. I've taken any amount of 
trouble, any amount of risk, to ensure being 
here this afternoon to buy it so that it doesn't 
run. You want it to run to lose, not win. 
Your little scheme's a washout." 

A man who lives by his wits knows how 
to keep his temper, and insults worry him 
little. Carrington merely laughed, a little 

" So you think you're helping young 
Neville Acton out of a mess, do you ? You're 
mad, sir ; you're taking away his only chance 
of getting quits with me. He took a price 
about Romping Home — I laid him six 
thousand to two — and if it doesn't run he 
loses. You'd better give him a chance to 

" Not much," smiled Mortimer. " It was 
shortly after midnight at the Horseshoe 
Club you made the wager. Bets made on 
the day of a race are void if the horse doesn't 
run. You know very well that Romping 
Home couldn't win if they gave it a furlong 
start. But it doesn't run, so there's no bet. 
Good afternoon." 

The next minute Mortimer was climbing 
again into Lady Cynthia's car. " You 
needn't hurry quite so much, Weston, on the 
journey home," he said to the chauffeur. 

CYNTHIA'S dark eyes were not innocent 
of tears. It was rather sweet here in the 
evening silence, altogether peaceful and 
a little wonderful after the big happenings of 
the day. Even the steady tones of Morti- 
mer's voice as he fulfilled his promise to 
explain scarcely seemed to disturb the quiet. 

As he finished, Cynthia's hand fell gently on 
his, in a silent expression of complete com- 

" Neville has told me a lot more than 
that," she whispered. " He has told the 
dad everything. It's bad, but it would have 
been far worse. Don't think that we are 
not grateful." 

" Everybody plays the fool at times ; you 
mustn't blame the boy too much. Anybody 
who falls in with the Carrington gang is 
likely to get in too deep. The story Neville 
told me last night would have made any 
fellow do all he could to help him. He was 
in almost to his neck, and Carrington had 
tricked him into a further bet which would 
have drowned him. I saw the one certain 
way out, and I had to do it." 

'* You were pretty quick ? " 

" I had to be. Ten minutes after Neville 
left me I worked out the drastic illness plot. 
I hadn't much time to think of alternatives. 
Wragg rang up the Nursing Home and 
the Daily Wire, and I was neck deep in the 
scheme. The nurse had come almost before 
I had time to instruct Wragg to send out in 
the morning S.O.S. calls to Reggie Cheape 
and one or two others. They all failed me, 
every one, the scugs ! So I had to keep on 
with the job myself ; you can't send a 
District Messenger boy to buy a gee-gee for 
you. 'Tisn't as though I'm a racing head, 
with agents and trainers at my call. I didn't 
even know what to do with the jolly old gee 
when I'd bought him ; it cost me a fiver to 
keep the kindly interest of the boy who was 
leading him about. Anyhow, everything's 
all right now, and I'll bowl like blazes on 

: Why didn't you tell me this morning ? " 

' I couldn't ; it was Neville's secret, not 
mine. For all I knew my plan might not 
have worked out. And you wouldn't have 
let me gone, either; somehow or another you'd 
have stopped me from quitting the cricket 
for Neville's sake. I had to stand down 
from the match ; had to keep quiet the real 
reason and put up a sham illness. If England 
had lost the toss I wouldn't have played, not 
even for you, Cynthia. I should have been 
fielding the whole day long ; it would have 
been absolutely impossible to get away. I 
couldn't risk that. Your brother is a bit 
more important than a cricket match." 

" Anybody's brother ? " 

" Perhaps. I don't know ; really, I don't 
know. Your brother, anyhow." He drew 
a little closer to her, his arm creeping along 
the back of her chair. " ' With or without 
engagement/ " he quoted, and drawing her 
to him kissed lips that were more than ready. 
" That is without engagement " 

" And this," she said, making with her 
hands a soft prison for his face, M is with I " 



The H 


-Made Car 







W. Heath Robinson 








The Home -Made Car 







W. Heath Robinson 







by CiC 


The Home -Made Car 



— ' 



the goods/' Qri g i n a I f ro m 



i8 3 

' MORAY'S \ 


No. X.-Mr. 






|R, CRAY leaned 
back in his deck- 
chair and watched 
the last blur of 
land fade away into the 
mist* He was not in a 
cheerful frame of mind, 
Behind him lay the 
world of adventures, 
London with its jugger- 
naut of life, its complex 
colours, its mystery, its 
everlasting call. There 
w r as his year, too, of grim 
self-sacrifice upon the battlefields 
of France, the year of his life 
given splendidly and cheerfully, 
a fine and wholesome tonic, the 
stimulus of which still remained. 
Behind, too, Jay that land of pleasure only 
lately left, the Riviera, with its sensuous joys, 
its flowers and its perfumes, its Ninettes, its 
bland incarnation of the whole philosophy 
of joy. And before him lay a new America, 
an America which somehow or other he 
dreaded, Mr, Cray was neither a greedy 
man nor a drunkard, but he felt a sad con- 
viction that much of that glad spirit of 
comradeship and good-fellowship must have 
passed away, withered in the blight of this 
strange new legislation. It was an un- 
familiar land to which he returned, an 
unwelcome call which he had grudgingly 
obeyed. The Cray Plant, glutted with dollars 
made by the manufacture of munitions, 
required his help in its reorganization. It 
needed the brains of its founder to open up 
new avenues of industry. So Mr, Cray was 
on his way home. 

It was the pleasant est month of the year 
for crossing — the end of May — when the sun 
was warm but never blistering, when the 

CopjTJRhr, igi i y by E. 

the sun 

green seas tossed and 

m u rmur ed before the 

west wind, which sang 

him to sleep at night 

and brought the fresh 

colour to his cheeks in 

the early morning* The 

bar-tender was an old 

friend of his, there were 

plenty of acquaintances 

on board, his place at 

the Captain's table was 

ilattering. Yet Mr* Cray 

was melancholy because 

sank in the wTong 

place and the bows of the 

steamer were pointed in the 

wrong direction, 

It was on the second afternoon 
out when Mr. Cray, turning carelessly enough 
to glance at the installation of a fellow- , 
passenger in the steamer chair by bis side, 
received a distinct shock, a shock which was 
apparently shared by the fellow- passenger in 
question. She stared at Mr, Cray and Mr, 
Cray stared at her + The words which finally 
escaped from his lips seemed inadequate. 

M Say, this is some surprise J I had no 
idea that you were thinking of making this 
trip/ 1 

The slim woman with the brilliant eyes 
showed distinct signs of embarrassment. 
She tried to carry off the awkwardness of the 
meeting with a nervous little laugh. 

" We made up our minds quite suddenly," 
she said, " or rather I suppose I ought to say 
that our minds were made up for us." 

" Major Hartopp is on board, then ? M 
Mr, Cray inquired, 
She nodded, 

' + He is over there, leaning against the 
rail, talking to the: dark, clean-shaven man." 

""""fl""^ OF MICHIGAN 


Mr. Cray's Adventures 

Mr. Cray glanced in the direction indicated 
and nodded. 

" Well, well," he said, " this seems kind of 
familiar. I had an idea, though, that you 
two had had enough of the States for a time. 
Why, it was only three days before I sailed 
that your husband told me he never intended 
to return." 

She smiled sadly. Her eyes seemed to be 
watching the glittering spray which leaped 
every now and then into the sunshine. 

" Our journey was undertaken at a 
moment's notice," she confided. " Here 
comes Guy. He will be glad to see you." 

If such was the case, Major Hartopp cer- 
tainly managed to conceal his gratification. 
He received his erstwhile acquaintance's 
cordial greeting with marked diffidence. 
Mr. Cray's good-nature, however, was not 
to be denied. He insisted upon an intro- 
duction to their friend — a : Mr. Harding, of 
New York — and did his best to dissipate the 
distinct atmosphere of embarrassment which 
he could scarcely fail to notice. He was only 
partially successful, however, and presently, 
when Hartopp and his companion had 
strolled away, he drew his chair a little closer 
to Mina's. 

" Mrs. Hartopp," he said, " your husband 
and you and I have come up against one 
another pretty often during the last three 
months. It seemed to me that we parted in 
Monte Carlo pretty good friends. What's 
wrong with your good man, and you, too, 
for the matter of that ? " 

Mrs. Hartopp turned her sorrowful eyes 
upon her companion. 

" Mr. Cray," she sighed, " you are one of 
those men who find out everything. I really 
don't see that it is of any use trying to keep 
it secret from you. Guy and I are in a very 
strange position. You can't imagine what 
has happened, I suppose ? " 

" I cannot," Mr. Cray acknowledged. 
"You've got me fairly guessing." 

She looked around as though to be sure 
that no one was within hearing. Then she 
leaned towards her companion. 

" Mr. Cray," she whispered, " that man — 
that horrible man, Harding — is no friend of 
ours. He is an American detective taking 
us back to New York. We are under arrest." 

" You don't say ! " Mr. Cray gasped. 

" Guy never thought that they would 
apply for an extradition warrant," she went 
on. "They did it quite secretly. We 
were arrested the moment we got back to 

» " Pretty tough," Mr. Cray murmured. 
" Of course, I always understood," he 
ventured, a little dubiously, " that there had 
been some trouble in New York, but I didn't 
think it was anything they could get him 
back for, unless he chose to go." 

Digitized by^-UUglL 

" The only trouble there," Mina declared, 
" was that he got into a set of people who 
were bent on making money anyhow, and he 
was too clever for them. However, I will 
not weary you any more by talking of our 
misfortunes. You had better take no notice 
of us. The truth might leak out, and it 
would not be pleasant for you^to be associated 
with criminals." 

" You can cut that out," Mr. Cray declared, 
warmly. " If there's anything I can do 
during the voyage, count on me." 

Mina furtively dabbed her beautif ul # eyes 
with her handkerchief. 

" You are very kind," she sobbed, " but 
nothing can help us now. Our pictures will 
be in all the p-papers. Guy will be branded 
as an adventurer and I as a fraud. You had 
better take no more notice of us, Mr. Cray. 
We are not worth it." 

MR. CRAY gave a great deal of thought 
during the next few hours to the matter 
of the Hartopps' predicament. So far, 
no one seemed to have surmised the truth of 
the situation, although the man Harding was 
never for a moment apart from one or the other 
of them, and the fact that he was a person 
of obviously inferior social station made the 
close intimacy a little remarkable. Towards 
the close of the second day Mr. Cray de- 
liberately sought Harding out during the 
half-hour before dinner when he was gener- 
ally alone. Harding, who did not dress for 
that meal, was lounging on the promenade 
deck, and Mr. Cray drew him insidiously 
towards the smoking-room. 

" No cocktails for me," the detective 
pronounced. " I've had some. I'll take a 
drop of Scotch whisky with you, though." 

They took several drops. The smoke- 
room was empty, and Mr. Cray very cau- 
tiously approached the subject he wished to 

" See here, Harding," he inquired, " is 
this a serious job for Hartopp ? " 

Harding became taciturn. 

" I don't know what you're talking about," 
he declared, cautiously. 

" You needn't worry about me," Mr. Cray 
declared. " I'm in the secret. Mrs. Hartopp 
told me all about it." 

Harding chewed his cigar for a moment 
and sipped his whisky and soda. 

" I guess he'll get five years, perhaps more. 
She'll probably get a spell herself." 

" I'm sorry' to hear this," Mr. Cray said. 
" They're friends of mine." 

" That don't alter their being crooks," 
the other replied, dryly. 

" Does New York know that you've got 
them ? " 

" Not a word. They didn't believe I'd 
get the warrant: through." 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 






Mr. Cray/ she whispered, * that horrible man Harding i* no friend of outs. He is 
an American detective taking us back to New York- We are under arrest/ ** 



Mr. Cray's Adventures 

" They don't know that you're on this 
steamer, then ? " 

" Nary a one of them. I'm going to give 
them the big surprise." 

" What's the charge ? " Mr. Cray inquired. 

" Against him — selling dud bonds. Against 
her — robbing the old ladies of Brooklyn by 
pretending she brought spooks to them. 
They've done some slick things between them, 
but they're booked for Sing-Sing this time, 
or my name ain't Silas Harding. Not a 
drop more, Mr. Cray. I'll be getting a wash 
before dinner." 

Mr. Cray walked the deck moodily. He 
was a kind-hearted man, and the plight of 
his companions distressed him greatly. 
After dinner that evening, whilst Harding 
was playing poker in the smoking-room, he 
sat between husband and wife. 

" I guess there's nothing to be done about 
this matter with Harding, eh? " he queried. 

Mina's eyes became suddenly bright. 

" You're so wonderful, Mr. Cray," she 
murmured. " I'm sure you have something 
at the back of your mind." 

" Nothing that amounts to anything, I'm 
afraid," Cray acknowledged. " Harding tells 
me, though, that he hasn't communicated 
with New York in any way." 

Hartopp looked up eagerly. 

" He told us that; I wondered at the time 
whether he was trying to make an opening 
for a little negotiation. The trouble of it is 
that we haven't the stuff handy." 

'* What about your wife's legacy ? " 

" They paid five thousand pounds down," 
Hartopp groaned, " and left the rest in case 
the relatives disputed the will. If this 
matter comes out in New York, and Mina's 
name is mentioned, we shall never see that 
forty-five thousand pounds. It's the devil's 
own luck." 

" It doesn't seem hopeful," Mr. Cray 
admitted, '* but we've had some fun together, 
and if I can make Harding see reason, I'll 
talk business to him." 

Mina's eyes shone and her soft fingers 
clasped his hand. Mr. Cray reciprocated 
her pressure gently. A little later in the day 
he approached Harding. 

" See here, Harding," he began, " how is 
it you and your friends the Hartopps are not 
down in the passenger list ? " 

The detective produced a particularly 
black and objectionable-looking cigar, lit it, 
and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. 

" You seem mighty interested in the 
Hartopps," he observed. 

"In a kinder way I am," Mr. Cray ad- 
mitted. " They're the sort of wrongdoers 
I've a fancy for. They're sports through 
and through, and smother thing, they're 

" Well, between you and me," the detec- 

tive confided, "I've a sort of sneaking 
sympathy for them myself, and the reason 
they're entered on the ship's list as Mr. and 
Mrs. Brown, and I figure as one Perkins from 
Chicago, is that I didn't want it to get about 
all over the ship that they were a couple of 
criminals whom I was taking back to New 

" I see," Mr. Cray murmured ; " very con- 

IT was about an hour after dinner-time and 
a dark evening. The deck, however, was 

still crowded with promenaders. Mr. Cray 
inveigled his companion into a more retired 

" See here, Harding," he continued, " I'm a 
plain man and I want to ask you a plain 
question. Had you heard of Mrs. Hartopp'a 
legacy when you started out on this trip ? " 

The detective rolled his cigar round, 
pinched it, and expectorated. 

" I sure had," he admitted. " How da 
you figure that comes in ? " 

" Just in this way," Mr. Cray explained, 
" You found your warrant granted a little 
unexpectedly, and you found the Hartopps 
amenable to reason. You've got them on 
board here without any fuss, and I take it 
there isn't a soul on the other side who knows 
that you're bringing 'em along. In fact, 
you've fixed it so that if you were to turn up 
in New York empty-handed, no one would 
be disappointed or surprised." 

" Well ? " 

" Now let me ask you as man to man," Mr. 
Cray went on, " didn't it enter into your head 
that a little deal with the Hartopps might 
be made, some little arrangement by which 
they could mingle with the other passengers 
and slip away at New York, and you could 
make a little deposit at your bank against a 
rainy day ? How's that, Mr. Harding ? " 

" I get you," the latter said, calmly. 
" You're suggesting that I might be bribed 
to let them go." 

" See here, Harding," Mr. Cray argued in 
his most persuasive tone ; "I figured the 
matter out this way to myself. Harding's 
a man of, say, forty-five to forty-six years of 
age, he draws a salary that don't permit of 
much saving, and when they retire him, in a 
few years' time, the pension isn't going to 
keep him in luxury. I take it that it's a 
man's business as he walks along through 
life to try and put a bit by when he sees a 
chance. Here's just one of these chances. 
The Hartopps ain't criminals at all. They're 
just easy-living, pleasant adventurer and 
adventuress, who live by their wits and other 
people's folly. I haven't got a grouch on 
'em, although they nearly cost me a cool 
thousand. They're not malicious ; they're 
not out to do anyone any particular harm in 


E. Phillips Oppenheim 


the world. Are you travelling along with 
me, Harding ? " 

" Sure ! " was the terse reply. 

" Therefore, I say that there's your 
chance," Mr. Cray wound up. 

The detective considered for some minutes. 

" Supposing I was willing to talk business/' 
he said, " what would be the price ? " 

" Two thousand pounds," Mr. Cray pro- 

" Nothing doing." 

" Name your own figure, then." 

" It'll cost you five," Harding declared, 
firmly, " not a cent more or less. We'll call 
it twenty-five thousand dollars." 

Mr. Cray sighed. 

" It's a lot of money," he declared. 

" It's a big risk," was the terse reply. 

" How long can you give me to think it 
over ? " 

" Twenty-four hours." 

"I'll meet you here at this time to-morrow 
night," Mr. Cray promised. 

MINA was looking very wan and delicate 
the next day. Her soft, luminous eyes 
called Mr. Cray to her side as soon as 
he appeared on deck. She questioned him 

' Is there any chance, do you think ? " 

"The man can be bought," Mr. Cray 
replied. "The trouble is that he wants a 
great deal of money." 

" How much ? " 

'• Five thousand pounds." 

Her face fell. 

" It is terrible, that! " she murmured. 

" Have you anything at all towards it ? " 
Mr. Cray asked, bluntly. 

'* You had better ask Guy," she answered. 
" I never know exactly how we stand, 
financially. Of course, if only the legacy 
had been paid we should have been all 

' Supposing the money was found, have 
you any place in New York you could get to 
quickly and lie hidden until you catch a 
steamer home ? " 

"' We have a certain hiding-place," she 
assured him. " There would be no difficulty 
about that. There is Guy over there. Will 
you go and talk to him ? " 

Mr. Cray obeyed orders. Major Hartopp 
took a gloomy view of the situation. 

" Harding didn't give us a moment to 
look around," he explained. " We had 
barely twenty-four hours' notice before he 
marched us on this infernal steamer. All 
the money Mina and I have between us is 
about ninety, pounds in cash, and about a 
hundred and forty at a bank in London. 
What's so infernally annoying is," he went on, 
" they'll never pay over the rest of the legacy 
if this gets into the papers. They haven't 

a chance of holding Mina for anything she's 
done — she's been too clever for that — but 
the exposure will be quite sufficient. Those 
Scotch lawyers will fight the case inch by 
inch sooner than pay over a shilling, if 
Mina's integrity is once questioned." 

" Supposing the money was forthcoming," 
Mr. Cray said, " your wife says she knows 
where you could find shelter in New York 
for a few days." 

" Not only that," Hartopp declared, 
eagerly, " but I could get a passage back on 
this ship without any questions asked. The 
purser's a very decent fellow, and I've been 
having a talk to him about it." 

Mr. Cray went back to Mina. She looked 
at him with very pretty hesitation. 

" Does Guy think we could do anything ? p " 
she asked. 

" The state of your exchequer, unfortu- 
nately, seems to place that out of the ques- 
tion," he told her. 

She leaned forward. Her hand rested 
upon his, and the pressure of her fingers 
became more marked. There was some- 
thing about the haunting way she looked 
at him which reminded Mr. Cray of the 
first time he had seen her at the Albert 

" Dear friend," she whispered, " I am very 
fond of Guy, in his way. He is a dear, of 
course, but — I am fonder still of liberty. 
The charge against me is really a foolish one. 
The only trouble is that it may spoil my 
chance of getting that legacy. Couldn't you 
pay him a little less and get him to leave me 
out ? You could take me back to England 
with you, and I should be there when Guy's 
trouble was over." 

Mr. Cray, being only human, returned the 
pressure of her fingers, but he shook his 

" I guess I'll see you both through this," 
he promised. " It won't ruin me, any 

MR. CRAY was met on the dock by 
Mr. Nathaniel Long, the treasurer of 
his company, and hurried away into a 
private room of one of the mammoth hotels. 
There, with great pride, the latter drew from 
a small bag a bottle of Scotch whisky. 
Tumblers and soda-water were speedily 
forthcoming. Mr. Cray asked the obvious 
questions concerning this great change which 
had come to his native land. 

" I tell you, Joseph," Mr. Long said, 
sorrowfully, " it's just as though some silent 
blight had fallen upon the country. The 
clubs aren't worth going into. Everybody 
snaps and snarls and quarrels at the least 
opportunity; The dinner-parties at the res- 
taurants seem frost-bitten, and it's one of 
the most painful sights in New York to see 



Mr. Cray's Adventures. 

Charlie serving out temperance drinks behind 
the bar of the Waldorf." 

" Any decrease in crime ? " Mr, Cray 

41 Slightly worse, and more suicides. Be- 
sides, this drinkyig in corners is making us 
seem like a furtive nation. A drink that 
used to be a mark of good-fellowship is now 
a vice. The doctors have never had so many 
cases of indigestion, and there's a wave of 
melancholia going around. I tell you," 
Long went on, gazing affectionately at the 
contents of his tumbler, " it seems a small 
thing to be driven from one's native land 
for, but the day I get across to England, sit 
down in a restaurant, order my cocktail and 
my bottle of champagne — well, it will be 
great, that's all there is to it." 

" How's business ? " Mr. Cray inquired. 

" That's what's brought me here," the 
other replied. " Joseph, the Seattle Power 
Works have offered to buy us out as we stand, 
before we start reconstruction, with five 
million dollars for goodwill and a premium 
on the stock. I've brought all the figures, 
and I've got a seat on the Limited to-night. 
My idea was that you might go right back 
with me, talk it over on the way, and go into 
things down there. It's a big chance if 
you've any fancy for cleaning up." 

" It sounds great," Mr. Cray murmured. 
" Say, Nat, I've given an open cheque for 
twenty-five thousand dollars on the Mer- 
chants' Bank here — lost it at poker on the 
way over. I guess it's all right, eh ? " 

" Sure ! " was the prompt reply. " We've 
never less than a hundred thousand dollars 
there. Did you get amongst pikers, or were 
you pushing some ? " 

" I guess the game was all right," Mr. 
Cray declared. " What time does the Limi- 
ted start ? " 

" Seven o'clock." 

" I'll look after my baggage and meet you 
at the depot." Mr. Cray promised. 

IT was exactly ten days later when Mr. 
Cray, accompanied again by Mr. Nathaniel 
Long, returned to New York. They spent 
a solemn but inspiring day at the lawyer's 
and banker's. When the whole thing was 
over, Mr. Cray was a richer man than he ever 
had been in his life. His programme for 
the evening, although sadly affected, alas ! 
by circumstances, still showed a sense of 
celebration. After a wonderful Turkish 
bath, a visit to the barber's and the mani- 
curist, a whisky and soda in his room — an 
act of debauchery which was entirely 
flavourless — he met his friend and late 
business partner, and the two men made 
their way to the most select restaurant in 
New York, where a table had been reserved 
for them. With elaborate care, Mr. Cray 

wrote out a wonderful menu, ordered with a 
prodigious sigh a large bottle of mineral 
water, and, closing his eyes for a moment, 
drank an imaginary cocktail. 

" Joseph, my boy, what are you going to 
do about it ? " Nathaniel Long inquired. 
" You're in the prime of life and a very rich 
man. You can acquire a post in one of our 
great commercial undertakings over here, 
or you can wander out into the world as you 
have done during the last few years, looking 
for adventures. Mrs. Cray don t seem to 
make any particular claim upon you, espe- 
cially since this anti-tobacco league was 
started. You're a free man, Joseph. That's 
what you are." 

" And you ? " Mr. Cray asked. " What 
about you, Nathaniel ? " 

Nathaniel Long shook his wizened little 

" I guess that sort of thing doesn't exist 
for me," he replied, sorrowfully. " I have 
a wife and eight children. I am trustee of 
the chapel where my wife worships, secretary 
of our golf and country club, commodore 
of the sailing club. I shall just rent a 
slightly larger country house and take my 
ease. It is fortunate that I have not your 
restless spirit." 

Mr. Cray was suddenly transfixed. He sat 
watching with sheer amazement a little 
party of three who were taking their places 
at an adjoining table — Major Hartopp, in 
his unmistakable English clothes, spruce 
and debonair ; Mina, looking ravishing in a 
wonderful gown of filmy grey ; and Mr. 
Harding, only a somewhat transformed 
Mr. Harding, in the long dinner-coat and 
flowing tie affected by the American 
diner-out. The head waiter himself saw 
them to their places, an obsequious mattre 
d'hdtel passed on their order to attentive 
myrmidons. Nathaniel Long followed his 
friend's earnest gaze with some interest. 

" Joseph," he inquired, " do you know 
the man in the dinner-coat— not the English- 
man ? You seem to be staring at him hard 

" He was on the steamer with me," Mr. 
Cray acknowledged. 

" That fellow's seen the inside of Sing- 
Sing more than once," Mr. Long declared. 
" Some crook he is, I can tell you. I don't 
know what name he goes by now, but they 
used to call him Slick Jimmy. He seems to 
have got in with a swell crowd." 

"He's never been a detective, by any 
chance, I suppose ? " Mr. Cray asked. 

Nathaniel Long smiled. 

" I should say not," he replied. " I don't 
think, even on the principle of ' set a thief to 
catch a thief,' they'd stand Slick Jimmy in 
the force." , 

At that moment Mina caught Mr. Cray's 

E. Phillips Oppenheim 


She leaned forward. Her hand rested upon hisi and the pressure of her fingers 

became more marked." 

eye and bowed in a somewhat constrained to hire a dog and a guardian and live amongst 

fashion. Hartopp nodded affably. Mr. Har- the duds." 

ding contented himself with a furtive grin, " Been stung ? " Nathaniel Long inquired, 

Mr, Cray drank a glass of water with great kindly. 

solemnity. Mr, Cray met Mica's tantalizing eyes and 

"Nathaniel/' he declared, " I guess that looked away, 

taste for adventures is fizzling out. Tve got " Some," he groaned. 

Mr, Oppenheim has just completed a series of detective stories of a new type, the first 
of which will shortly appear in M The Strand Magazine." 



PERPLEXITIES. B y iw e. Du<w y . 

Here is a simple little fallacy that I have found 
to be very perplexing to a great many people. 
The wheel shown in the illustration, in rolling from A 

(there were as many boys as girls) were given seven- 
pence to spend on these buns, each receiving exactly 
alike. How many buns did each receive ? Of course 
no buns were divided. 

to B, makes one complete revolution. It is therefore 
obvious that the line A B is exactly equal in length 
to the circumference of the wheel. But the inner 
circle also makes one complete revolution along the 
imaginary dotted line C D, and, since the line C D is 
equal to the line A B, the circumferences of the larger 
and the smaller circles are exactly the same ! This is 
certainly not true. Wherein lies the fallacy ? 

I have been asked to explain the following, which 
will doubtless interest many readers who have not seen 
it. If a person can add correctly but is incapable of 
multiplying or dividing by a number higher than 2, it 
is possible to obtain the product of any two numbers 
in this curious way. Multiply 97 by 23. 















564.— A CHARADE. 
My first is a number, my second another, 
And each, I assure you, will rhyme with the other. 
My first you will find is one-fifth of my second, 
And truly my whole a long period reckoned. 
Yet my first and my second (nay, think not I cozen) 
When added together will make but two dozen. 

Buns were being sold at three prices : one a penny, 
two a penny, and three a penny. Some children 


In the first column we divide by 2, rejecting the 
remainders, until 1 is reached. In the second column 
we multiply 23 by 2 the same number of times. If 
we now strike out those products that are opposite to 
the even numbers in the first column (we have en- 
closed these in parentheses for convenience in printing) 
and add up the remaining numbers we get 2,231, 
which is the correct answer. Why is this ? 


There are 2,501 ways of going, as follows : — 



. . 1 route 

. . 2 V2 


s 2 



. . 1 


.. 9 





. . 2 routes 

.. 12 





.. 5 


.. 18 





.. 4 


.. 72 





.. 14 


.. 36 





.. 22 


.. 72 



We have only to consider the routes from B to D. 
The 1 -station route is direct to D. The 2-station 
route is C D. The two 3-station routes are C B D and 
D C D. The five 4-station routes are D B C D, 
D C B D, C B C D, C D C D, and C D B D. Each of 
these routes is subject to a number of variations in the 
actual lines used, and for a journey of a given number 
of stations there is always the same number of varia- 
tions, whatever the actual route. A 7-station journey 
is not possible. 

We see at once from the table that England beat 
Ireland and drew with Wales. As E scored 2 goals 
to o in these games, they must have won 2 — o and 
drawn o — o. This disposes of E and leaves three 
games, W v . I, S i>. I, and S v. W, to be determined. 
Now, S had only one goal scored against them — by 
W or I. I scored only one goal, and that must have 
been against W or S. Assume it was against S. In that 
case W did not score against S. But W scored three 
goals altogether ; therefore these must have been scored 
against I. We find I had 6 goals against them : 2 scored 
by E, as shown, 3 by W (if we assume that I scored v. S), 

and the remaining goal was scored by S. But, as we 
have just assumed I scored 1 goal against S, the match 
would have been drawn. It was won by S, and 
therefore I could not have scored against S. Thus 
the goal against S must have been scored by W. And 
as W scored 3 goals, the other two must have been 
v. I, who must have scored their only goal against W. 
Thus S beat W by 2 — 1 and I by 2 — o, while W won 
by 2 — 1 v. I. 

By adding O's we get the sentence, ORTHODOX 

The five brigades contained respectively 5,670, 
6,615, 3t 2 4°t 2,730, and 2,772 men. Represent all the 
fractions with the common denominator 12,012, and 
the numerators will be 4,004, 3,432, 7,007, 8,316, and 
8,190. Combining all the different factors contained 
in these numbers, we get 7,567,560, which, divided by 
each "number in turn, gives us 1,890, 2,205, 1,080, 940, 
and 924. To fulfil the condition that the division 
contained a " little over 20,000 men," we multiply 
these by 3 and have the correct total — 21,027. 

1. Administration ; 2. Calculate; 3. Instigate; 
4. Panorama ; 5. Destination ; 6. Conglomerate ; 
7. Kleptomania ; 8. Estimation ; 9. Ornithological ; 
10. Malevolent. 

A LARGE number of correspondents have suggested 
what is undoubtedly the correct answer to this enigma : 
" I am notable ; I am siio tabic ; I am not able." 



Cook with milk — rich as cream 

TiyfANV a woman spends all her liTe cooking and 
"* never achieves ^h^.t every woman w arils— a 
reputation among her friends as a cook. 

Pcrha§» she does not know the real secret of good 
cooking, which sou nils almost too extravagant to 
mention nowadays — it is plenty of butter and cream 
and eggs. The problem is to get l hem cheap enough 
for cooking purposes, 

Libhy's Evaporated Milk solves part of that prob- 
lem. On this page is shown a dinner of five dishes— 
all made w it'll Libby's Milk and all noticeably richer 
as a result of its use. 

Potato BurprLaa. 

irinvH- turfiii'i- uf a Um^]i<itnCii»^l f >«ik>' I'm 4hfT ti^i nf |h'UM«: 
reiiHut- irmrr iwrt nliil njjuh, l^inif t-arvf 111. ni*t M> Ipim-uk llif wlifll, 

^■JtJNtfl Wiltt Will. |n'|il^V ■ h'tMKil tj:iEH, kIppI l.llplif '» Milk Ultd i Hll+*.l. 

nVflM flHI ; ninfa'rt. *MjtM ilnlriitnUoii jm 1 1 m- ii T it rr in wllh'l* ptoffe 
mi iiin-i -■ki'iji ,-jrn. t'miroTH' tnMi'*|"«i-Ti nf LiMpy'^ Milk 4>< >-M Im 1 m(K_ 
■Iirli tikk vi St h «df Mid iH-i*|nT hftkt- nix iril initio 3n " nvmLrritt' 1 uv* n. 

Cold arid Whiu CaJia. 

\ ih. Au»t'. "I ItttftrttHiftii* f.ihhff'x |j tfftwtmiruM tnltiHfl 

3liaiii*spoaii*6*i Mitt, pvitot+r. 

Or or ipturpri.rtMf. a Tflp wihiOpi. I Jrrr*j r *cwpn trririffu, 

| \h. F-i-yr?- A (^IJII^Mi i-j I 4*vi<J| tff* i (J^l-UKMI *l/( 
a fuJriWjiWMH uhtOi". j!<p j-JTfiP". 

A merit pie made of tender veal, with a little 
celery, peas and pepper, and wilh a rich cream 
sauce, The bilked potato is beaten fluffy with 
the milk— and milk added to the egg b*kes it like 
custard- The cake looks like a mountain of 
goodness— and it is. 

Therc is a reason for this added richness. Libhy's 
Evaporated Milk is puie*. rich milk from the 
hnest dairy regions, evaporated to twice its 
original richness. That is why Libby 'l Milk has 
twice the amount of butter fat that is contained 
in ordinary milk. 

Irrmn ' utter awl maar Mix flmir, takinc 

UK tmnu ill-mini wsll : ini\ 
milk and "jitrr. Add dry JtiffmlirnL* mid liquid nlhmhU'ty tn 
l*Utt*T flint ni|pir. Flavour i"Hrtih|ly ImthI; r$ ^ v, |pj tf«. stihi niv.-iin 
v( lartKf. I vat until Ntlff; foM [titu <iike niifctiin*. TTiU will m*k# 

• -ri,- v. I. M h i» tit In? utfd l^twn^i two |;ht ■■■> id Un r fip-Ll- ■«■ iiiir 

Gold ink* 

t fiY ImfO?- ui- tMpi^WfC I tMtfrtvn mitHM. 

rcrJJ. Jr« ■ |Hf. J 4^p ftHfitK. n fptflJI^HMJHIIPf OflJfPlPfl j >Hfi ■!■ I' 

I lb. MHflHf, Jl Mll/tltjX|iiJlfl L*M/tt+ Mttk. „ F h r^P WrPI JAH.I Ji ft |ffT(# "I . 

TiejiiH duller MtHl utinnr. ruhl *^ll l*»iiileii (feff yolk*. Mix nml t*iff 
'Ita ipiitrfilii'iitJPi :tinl iiihl uld ri]N.l4 1 > with li-jniit W> tin- tirst ini\- 
luxi* pTUvour. tkih*- in a modenu oven. Th(* vrlll imfc,« tw«p 

Inj-iM-* I 1 "* <wir H liilj.- hijrr ^wlift^'ii tin- prtihl Liyrm. Uw two iih. r 
»liin^ ih1iI?-|i arv |p*ft fur tl»' fnwtiiiR- 

Doto Pi*, 

ik of f/«Oii. '„ h i-'^rri* )] /*«0*/-h>»ji «l/l. 

^ i^rijiTBjppp fcrtWH jfw f'f ** 
<4H>k ilat*^ with milk aih:I vrnr*r 3 5 Tiilnulc* in fl^niMr Ih.iJi't. 
Iiiilj LhrNmpli h ^ii-if ,\l3i| Ih^U^ip r^W y^lkn. |i-moii jtih-ip mid 
unit Itiki- jpn n i-iiNtiLttl |iir \1s4kt. 1 n run Liipnn- .if Uw r?S vliif*-* 
m A\u\ tiiprnr :iii<l Imh^ti in a. hirt own, 

Cucumbftr and Tomato Salad* 

il flf hrlH f iJ^t. J>mVR J WJ Cr 1 . 1 |jJ4 H r/i ^'"'1 l*ft ^pt. 

l"j(f WJ*i^« »-. I ^-Jijip'i . { ^, ,.r „r *,\ irtrfifU. 

I jhfitcf frttntf. i yt. tiMifft Mftk. Fmtt. 

T^ki' fn-Hpi tomatOM mid r-m ncul^-r. tiHi'4- thru] thin, fii Jrttucrto 
Tiuiki- lit I iM-r ih i- *;pIii-I A lil (O nulj^h Is »n nd<Mti'iH. Tln-'Ti (fmln 
nsiir h S[inipjh|i oihi^i nr II m:ih lv fhOf*|p«i v L i i j hiy\ I'lif^ininrti nmrt 
lit- ptawt. AJd ihiph' fif hull ii Ij-njuti mitl n i |pI. tif HbAyf'u Milk 
wht»-li has Wvn a hf|rp«dJ w itlimit Idlipf. rt™j«iii <* Jtti luill |H j ^[HMPri 

Hut Fla* 

I Ut. t+fl/, r'ft'tr. I M. i^fri. 

I tlnik vtrrft \&&ivn, :t Jl-ifj/p 1 AjHttm* fttm r. 

I'dt l«at f^r x^wEtlfr. l>nt in wltr<'|iaxi m ilJi jupd +thihcIi wjplcr (■> 
ni inn if i \p1iI -»Ii iiinj mi ion nit la | ■ |«Cflmm«r. >1nlf |n»Mi ■Pwr-m- 
it llduflpaitd |M-:iii, orlerr- fn L t ]**H*t. Winn nIp-m In r|pmr Hut. 1 

'in'iilil W alnntl I mi * n|* csf sit^H k. Takr mtt n mv Jijid li-r i**A 
-liifr.ily r^f,.n- midtnX t* t h* Uhhj>Mllk, Tnln-n little of Che foM 

niitkti- -itlr with rtLmr. fintkhnrnMin.i,Mli |, N i*i,'. Ariri milk sin I »»tpT 
tiiNlKv.^tiriii [Fn t rtuiiT|ini.t'- l^-r thi-nmk until il lliii-ki'im ^ttirtiw 
nil tin- li^in.i in t« makf m sni.i-itli narjr. Turn nil littn n l«j*kinc 
iIEp«|l r^Hi'i «1lli ?i |Hpp-tiL|iT iiin.l l--iki' in a. Ii4«t i >^ imi hhur li'miiiiiti ■■*. 

Let your Grocer be your Milkman. 

Wutt far aur fret booty tt " Finer Flavour-d Milk. Tthhei** !i ii full uf recipe* 
fi>f xfrfic.iaui c j cant art J tmtttr tannn drihiri that u'i// plea it the it hale JQmt!y 

Libby, McNeill & Libby, Ltd. 



Orig i n af from 

UNTrtHillT UhlYIILIII 1 , 




Look out for Sir A. Conan Doyle's 

Toe Adventure of the Mazann Stone/ 





by Google 

Original from 


" Against the dark background of the curtain of the door we all three saw a spectral 

it in large Greek dhiuncteiu. - Stavropouloi I * 



picture of a house-front with a sign across 
ejaculated Forsyth," 

Vol. ItiL— is 

Copyright, 1931, i>Y F. jtyVfTpf^RV OF 



.♦ SYDNEY „ 

OUR after-lunch coterie at the club 
had relapsed into silence and 
newspapers in the corner of the 
11 What nonsense this -archaism is in 
modern art ! " exclaimed one of the group 
suddenly, holding up a reproduction of a 
much -discussed new picture which repre- 
sented a saint with the usual dinner- plate 
at the back of his head. " He would be 
infinitely more effective if he were painted 
like a normal human being/" 

Dr. Harford, a physician of some dis- 
tinction in the city, looked up sharply* 

"It may be nonsense from the artistic 
point of view/ 1 he said. " But the halo 
itself is a scientific fact/* 

Whgtrpglrfi^ ried another, incredulously. 



Second Sight 

" Do you mean to say that saints actually 
have halos, doctor ? " 

" Saints — and sinners as well. There's no 
distinction of virtue," he replied. 

" Come, doctor ! You can't make us 
believe that ! " 

" It is a fact, I tell you," he repeated. " I 
don't say it is ordinarily visible. But it is 
there all the time — and it can be seen." He 
smiled. " I've seen it myself. Quite a 
story, that occasion. Like to hear it ? " 

Dfr. Harford was one of our established 
raconteurs. There was a ragged chorus of 
'* Fire away ! Let's have it, doctor ! " 

WELL (he began), you remember that 
after the Armistice I went to Constan- 
tinople with the Relief Commission ? 
My particular section was one of those which 
remained at Stamboul. Three of us, a clever 
doctor man named Thompson, a young fellow 
- — Forsyth, who was a millionaire from Cali- 
fornia — and myself, housed ourselves very 
comfortably together in a flat in Pera which 
during the war had been occupied by a 
German doctor. Pera, you probably know, 
is the European quarter. We three men 
kept together pretty much and had little to 
do with the other fellows in our section. 
But, of course, we associated, like all the 
other doctors and voluntary helpers, with 
the lady-nurses who had accompanied us. 

They were all nice girls, but there was one 
who was exceptionally interesting. She was 
the youngest of "the nurses. Her name was 
Netta Mansfield. There was an attractive- 
ness about her that wasn't merely a matter 
of her youth nor of her undeniable prettiness. 
She had personality — and she radiated an 
irresponsible gaiety that was infectious. 
When the bright eyes in the pretty little face 
under the fair hair smiled at you she was 
really fascinating. Of course, we were all 
in love with her, but Forsyth made most of 
the running. How far she reciprocated his 
evident feelings it was impossible to say, for 
she was an arrant little flirt and her smiles 
beamed equally on all of us. 

We were not left quite to our own devices 
in Constantinople. The Turkish Government 
very thoughtfully told off officials to look 
after us, ostensibly to give us every assistance 
in our mission, actually of course to throw 
every obstacle in our way. The particular 
official assigned to us called himself Ahmed 
Hassan. His age was something under 
thirty and he was a typical example of the 
Young Turk, aping the European to excess, 
his hair plastered sleekly back from his 
forehead, his dress effeminately elegant. 
He had been educated in France and 
Germany and he spoke English fluently. 
He was less offensive than most of his type, 
and, from the guide-book point of view, 

certainly helpfuL Effusively polite and 
loudly disclaiming all old-fashioned Mo- 
hammedan prejudices, he escorted us to 
every sight in the city, whether mosque or 
restaurant. A motor-car — alleged to be his 
own — was at our service whenever our own 
official cars were not available. 

I do not know whether women are less 
acute than men in their perception of 
the qualities which distinguish a gentleman 
from the other kind, but certainly the ladies 
of our party did not share our aversion to 
Ahmed Hassan. 

They persisted in regarding him as 
virtually the European which he strove 
to be, and to our disgust would accom- 
pany him, two or three together, in his 
motor-car to various points of interest 
around the city. He succeeded in im- 
pressing on them, of course, that in his own 
sphere he was quite a personage. Some of 
them openly flirted with him, and perhaps 
Netta Mansfield was the worst offender. I 
don't suppose she realized the encourage- 
ment she gave him. She couldn't help 
flirting with everybody — it was just the 
expression of her natural vivacity. The 
dandified young Turk responded only by 
the ceremonious politeness he had picked up 
and exaggerated from his Parisian acquaint- 
ances. He was always scrupulously re- 
spectful. But sometimes, when innocently 
enough she coquetted with him, just as she 
would have done with a young man at home, 
there was a flash in his eyes — suppressed on 
the instant — which made me uneasy. The 
hereditary instincts of a Turk, no matter 
how emancipated he may consider himself, 
do not qualify him for a just appreciation of 
a modern girl's freedom of manners. 

I was not alone in my uneasiness. I could 
see that Forsyth was more troubled than he 
cared to confess at the possible effect of these 
provocative, if innocent, familiarities upon 
our suave young cicerone. Once or twice, 
indeed, he ventured on a mild reproof, but 
her merrily scornful " Don't be so absurd, 
Jack ! " emphasized by the candour of her 
eyes, stilled the words upon his tongue. 

One day, in our flat, he opened himself to 
me upon the subject. 

" I wish you would say a word to Netta, 
doctor," he said. " I don't like the way she 
makes herself cheap with that young Turk. 
She doesn't mean anything, of course. She 
probably doesn't realize what she's doing 
half the time. But one can't expect him to 
understand. And, anyway, one can never 
trust these fellows." 

" Why don't you speak frankly to her 
yourself?" I replied. "You are more 
intimate with her than I am." 

He shook his head. 

" It's no use. doctor/* he answered. " I've 


F. Britten Austin 


tried. She only laughs at me for what she 
calls my ridiculous jealousy. She won't see 
what I mean." 

" Well, I'll do my best," I agreed. " But 
you know what she is. She thinks no wrong 
and she sees no wrong — and she is a very 
self-willed young woman." 

I found an opportunity that same after- 
noon. Passing by the hostel where the 
nurses of our section were lodged, I met 
Netta in the doorway with two or three of 
her companions, evidently prepared for an 
outing. In answer to my question, she 
informed me that they were going for a 
joy-ride with Ahmed Hassan. I drew her 
aside and, availing myself of the privileges 
of my grey hairs, remonstrated with her 
seriously on the imprudence of her conduct. 

"Why, doctor," she exclaimed, with her 
bright young laugh, " what harm can there 
be in it ? Even if he is a Turk, he's a 
civilized one. I think he's a bit soft with all 
his bowing and scraping, but he behaves 
himself like a gentleman. I can't see any 
difference between him and a Frenchman or 
an Italian. He's had a European education, 
and he doesn't believe in harems or anything 
like that. Besides, we have permission and 
I never go out with him alone. But really, 
doctor," she finished, with a touch of resent- 
ment, " Mr. Hassan has been very kind to 
all of us — you men as well — and I don't see 
why, if he behaves himself like a gentleman, 
we shouldn't treat him like one. At any 
rate, I'm going to treat him so until I have 
cause to think otherwise ! " 

With whicji defiance she tossed her pretty 
fair head and ran out into the road to meet 
the car, which at that moment came along 
at a breakneck pace with the elegant Ahmed 
Hassan at the wheel. I watched them 
depart, Netta by the side of Hassan, her 
companions in the tonneau. She turned 
and waved a peace-making to me as they 
whirled off in a cloud of dust. 

TIE next morning, at an hour when I 
am ashamed to confess that I was still 
in bed, Forsyth dashed into my room, 
his face chalky white, his eyes staring as 
though he were out of his senses. 

" She's gone, doctor 1 " he cried. " Gone ! 
Disappeared utterly I Oh, my God ! " He 
clutched at his brow in a gesture of despera- 
tion, as if to hold his wits together. " Gone ! " 

I sprang up from mv bed. 

" Not Netta ? " I exclaimed. 

" Yes — Netta I " The man was shaking 
in every limb. " Gone ! Utterly disap- 
peared ! Netta ! It must have been in the 
night. A message came from the matron — 
her room was empty this morning. Doctor ! 
Get your clothes on — we must find her — we 
must find her at once ! ".^p 

by Google 

I needed no stimulation to get dressed. 
As I slipped into my clothes, I questioned 
him for further details. 

" But how could she get out ? Isn't the 
door looked or guarded ? " 

" Both," he answered. " It must have 
been through her window. She sleeps in a 
little room on the ground floor overlooking 
the garden at the back." 

" Alone ? " 

" Yes — the other girl usually with her has 
gone sick — in hospital. She was alone last 
night. Oh, Netta ! Netta ! " His cry of 
grief and despair was heartrending. 

" Perhaps she has gone off on some madcap 
escapade," I hazarded, trying to imagine 
anything but the worst. " It would be just 
like her to go off to see the dawn over 
the Bosphorus or something equally hare- 

He shook his head. 

" There's a twelve-foot wall round that 
garden, doctor. I've seen it. And there 
are signs of a struggle among the bushes 
outside her window." 

" You've been there this morning ? " 

" Yes. I dashed round directly I heard 
the news. They could tell me nothing — 
except that she went to bed happily enough 
last night and that her room was empty 
this morning. It has big French windows 
and they were open." 

" But who could have abducted her ? " I 

asked, putting on my coat. " Surely not " 

I stopped at the suspicion, almost a certitude, 
which flashed into my mind. 

" Yes ! That's who it is ! " he answered, 
vehemently. " That damned scoundrel 
Hassan ! You know as well as I do ! Come 
along, doctor ! I want you to go round with 
me and find him. When we lay hands on him 
we sha'n't be long in getting hold of Netta. 
Thompson is coming with us. I've told him. 
Oh, my God, man, be quick, be quick 1 " 

" I'm ready," I answered, picking up my 
hat. " I think you're right. The first thing 
to do is to find Hassan. We'll see what he 
has to say for himself." 

" I don't suppose we shall find him in his 
office, though he usually gets there at an 
unearthly early hour," said Forsyth. " It 
will be a matter of tracking him down. But 
I've a car waiting outside. Put that gun in 
your pocket ! " he added, pointing to my 
revolver on the dressing-table. " You may 
want it. I have mine. There will be a few 
sharp words with Mr. Hassan when we do 
find him ! " 

I slipped the weapon into my pocket and 
followed him into the living-room, where 
Thompson was awaiting us. Without more 
discussion, we dashed downstairs and into 
the Red Cross car for which Forsyth had 
telephoned. , ; n a 1 f rQ m 



Second Sight 

A few minutes later we pulled up at the 
Ministry where Ahmed Hassan had a little 
office, which he attended when he was not 
. chaperoning us over Constantinople. The 
Turkish sentry at the main entrance, recog- 
nizing us, let us pass without hindrance. It 
was by no means the first time we had visited 
our cicerone in the gloomy building where he 
exercised his somewhat mysterious official 
functions, and we ran quickly up the stairs 
; to his room. Without the formality of a 
knock, Forsyth flung open the door. 

There, much to our surprise, was our 
friend, Mr. Ahmed Hassan, placidly seated 
at his desk. He looked up at our entrance 
and, all politeness, rose to his feet. 

" Good morning, gentlemen," he said, with 
his suave Continental accent. " To what do 
, I owe the honour " 

He got no farther. Forsyth sprang across 
the room and gripped him by the throat with 
one hand, while with the other he pulled the 
revolver from his pocket. 

" Where is she ? " he cried, like a madman. 
" Where is she ? Answer me this instant — 
or I'll blow your scoundrelly brains out ! " 

Poor Hassan could not have answered even 
if he would. Forsyth's furious grip on his 
throat was throttling the life out of him. 
He writhed in unavailing efforts to free 
himself, his eyes bulging almost out of his 
head, his face congested. 

WITH some difficulty we dragged our 
friend away, held him back. 

' Don't be a fool, Forsyth ! " said 
Thompson, angrily. " Killing the man won't 
help us ! " 

" I'll kill him if he doesn't tell us where she 
is ! " he replied, glaring at the Turk. 

" Let us first ascertain whether he knows 
anything at all about the matter," I put in. 
I turned to Hassan. He had sunk back on 
his chair and was even now only beginning 
to recover his breath. He looked at me 
with an anger that was venomous. 

" I will have diplomatic satisfaction for 
this outrage ! " he gasped. " You shall 
answer for this ! " 

'• We offer our apologies here and now for 
our friend's violence, Mr. Hassan," I said. 
" He is not quite responsible for his actions 
at this moment. He has had a cruel shock, 
and it is unfortunate that you should be 
connected in his mind with the cause of it. 
Perhaps you can give us some information as 
to the whereabouts of Miss Mansfield ? " 

I was observing him narrowly as I spoke, 
and the astonishment on his face impressed 
me with its genuineness. 

" Miss Mansfield ? " he queried. M Why— 
what has happened to her ? " There was 
no trace of anger in him now. It had 
vanished in his startled concern. " Miss 


Mansfield ? But she was all right yester- 
day " • 

" Miss Mansfield disappeared from her 
room during the night or early this morning, 
Mr. Hassan," I said, explicitly. "As you 
were much in her company, it is only 
natural " 

" That you should suspect me as respon- 
sible for her disappearance ! " he chimed in 
with his agreement. " Of course, doctor ! 
I quite understand ! You have doubtless 
heard that I am in the habit of abducting 
young ladies." His irony flashed out at me. 
" We Turks of course need to fill our harems ! 
Gentlemen, your insinuation is an un- 
warrantable insult ! " He rose in anger 
from his chair. " I will ask you to be good 
enough to leave my room ! " 

" Not until he has told us what he knows ! " 
muttered Forsyth, wriggling in Thompson's 
grasp. " The oily scoundrel ! " 

I interposed. 

" Mr. Hassan," I said, " I beg you will 
take no notice of any remarks made by my 
friend here. You will well understand that 
he is in an over-excited condition. Please 
accept my assurances that Dr. Thompson 
and I do not come here to make any in- 
sinuation. We come merely to ask your 
advice and assistance in this distressing 

He made a helpless gesture with his hands. 

" But, my dear doctor," he said, "what 
can I do ? I know nothing about the 
business. It is true that Miss Mansfield was 
one of a party which accompanied me on 
an excursion yesterday. But # she returned 
safely — you can satisfy yourselves as to that. 
The other ladies of the party can testify to it. 
Since then I have not seen Miss Mansfield. 
Until you informed me of it, I was ignorant 
that anything had occurred to her." 

Prejudiced as I was against the young 
man's sleek plausibility, his manner seemed 
to me quite convincing. 

Forsyth wrested himself from Thompson's 
grasp. He came straight up to Hassan and 
looked him in the eyes. 

" For all that, I believe you know where 
she is ! " he said. " And I assure you I am 
going to find her ! " 

Hassan made a gesture which waived 
resentment of the insult, as if in sympathetic 
comprehension of a mind disordered by 

" You have my best wishes for success, 
Mr. Forsyth," he answered, coolly. 

Irony or not, we had no means of detecting 
it. The young man's suave effrontery, if 
effrontery it was, was impenetrable. 

" Come along, Forsyth," said Thompson, 
touching him on the arm. " We shall do 
no more here. Let us go to the Allied 


F. Britten Austin 


1 watched them depart, Netta by the side of Hassan. She tamed and waved a peace- 

x-h making to me as they whirled °ff«i*ffrom 



Second Sight 

TO the Allied Mission we went, Forsyth all 
the way reiterating his unshaken con- 
viction that Ahmed Hassan had a hand 
in the affair. We told our story to a sym- 
pathetic Intelligence officer, and left with 
the assurance that no stone in Constantinople 
should be left unturned until the girl was 

The authorities were as good as their word. 
The most astute of their secret service agents 
were put on the trail, but with no result. In 
view of our suspicions, the strictest watch, of 
course, was kept on Ahmed Hassan. He was 
shadowed wherever he went. His rooms — 
he, too, had a flat on the borders of the Pera 
district — were broken into and ransacked by 
agents disguised as burglars. Nothing was 
found which in the least suggested any 
complicity in the affair. Day after day 
passed and not even the slightest trace of 
the girl was discovered. 

Forsyth was distracted with anxiety. He 
made no secret now of his love for Netta. 

Thompson and myself began to worry 
about our friend. He was approximating 
dangerously close to a break-down, nervous 
and mental. When not w r andering about the 
streets in the feverish excitement of some 
illusory clue, he would sit for hours in our 
flat, sucking at an empty pipe and staring 
vacantly in front of him, muttering dis- 
jointed phrases that were not directed to us, 
but were the automatic articulations of 
fragmentary thoughts flitting through his 
brain. We tried everything we could think 
of to rouse him from this neuropathological 
stupor, to kindle interest in other subjects 
than the one which dominated him. But 
nothing touched him. We even discussed 
the heroic remedy of getting him sent away 
from Constantinople. 

Our flat, as I told you, had been occupied 
during the war by a German doctor, and we 
had taken over his furniture. One day, 
when we were almost in despair for a dis- 
traction that would even momentarily interest 
or amuse our friend, Thompson, who was 
rummaging about in a cupboard full of our 
predecessor's effects, uttered a cry of 
gratified surprise. 

" Look here, Harford ! Have you ever 
seen this curious little toy before ? " 

I went across to him and saw a small box, 
with the name of a well-known London firm 
of medical publishers on the inside of the 
open lid. 

"What is it? " I asked. 

" You've heard of the Becquerel ' N ' 
rays, haven't you ? " he responded. " This 
is the apparatus for viewing them." 

I had, of course, read in the scientific 
press just before the war the controversy 
which ensued upon the discovery of those 
mysterious rays with which the names of Dr. 

Becquerel and Dr. Blandlot were identified, 
but I had never had an opportunity of 
actually seeing them for myself. With this 
box before me, I now remembered hearing 
that the necessary apparatus was upon the 

Thompson pulled out from the box a 
screen of two small sheets of glass, fastened 
in a frame face to face but about half an inch 
apart, and some stoppered bottles filled with 
blue crystals. 

"It is all here/' he said. He looked at 
me as though silently asking my approval 
of a scheme in his head. Would an experi- 
ment amuse our friend ? I nodded. " For- 
syth ! " cried Thompson, sharply. " Would 
you like to see a little scientific magic ? " 

Forsyth roused himself, languidly enough, 
and came over to us. 

" What do you mean ? " he asked, glancing 
with the slightest of interest at the box. 
" What is it ? " 

" You've heard of the halos surrounding 
the saints — the auras that the theosophists 
talk of ? " 

"A lot of rubbish," said Forsyth, con- 
temptuously. " What are you driving at ? " 

" Would you like to see the human aura 
with your own eyes ? " 

" I'll do anything you like," said Forsyth. 
" Anything to pass the time. What is it— 
a conjuring trick ? " 

"No," replied Thompson, "it's a sober 
scientific demonstration. Wait a minute ! " 

He brought the box to the table and 
extracted its contents. Then, after a glance 
at the printed instructions which accom- 
panied it, he mixed the blue crystals into a 
solution and poured the fluid into the space 
between the two glass plates. The result, 
of course, was a blue screen such as might 
have been used in a camera. He handed it 
to Forsyth. 

" Now, then," he directed. " Go to the 
window and look through that screen at the 
daylight for five minutes. I'll tell you 
when the time's up." 

Forsyth obeyed, with the air of a man to 
whom everything is equally devoid of real 
interest. For five minutes, w T hile Thompson 
stood watch in hand, he gazed through the 
little blue screen out of the window. 

" Time ! " said Thompson, going behind 
him and closing the jalousied shutters so as 
to darken the room. " Put the screen on 
the table and look at Harford." 

Forsyth did as he was told. He laid aside 
the screen, glanced at me — and then stared 
at me as though there were something 
astonishingly abnormal in my appearance. 

" Good heavens I " he exclaimed. " It's 
extraordinary ! " Thompson came round 
from the window and joined me. ' You 
too — Thompson f It's found both of you ! 


F. Britten Austin 


A different colour — yours is blue — Harford's 
is yellow ! " His amazement had startled 
hitn into a genuine interest where his 
obsession was for the moment forgotten. 
" What the deuce is it ? How do you 
explain it ? " 

'* I'll tell you in a moment," replied 
Thompson. " Would you like to try, 
Harford ? " 

" I should — very much," I answered. 

He swung back the shutters again and I 
too stared for five minutes at the daylight 
through the blue screen. Then, the room 
once more darkened, I put down the screen 
and looked at my companions. 

A ROUND both of their bodies, but not 
J^^ actually in contact with them, was a 
sort of coloured mist extending for 
about six inches and following their contour. 
The mist was striated with fine lines, which 
in Thompson's case stood out straight like 
the rays of a halo, but which drooped, 
with a suggestion of feebleness, all round 
Forsyth's figure. 

" Do you see colours ? " asked Thompson. 

" Yes," I replied. " Yours is blue — 
Forsyth's is a kind of green." I raised my 
finger-tips before my eyes. There, streaming 
from them, were the mysterious emanations 
— a primrose yellow — which met as I held 
them about a foot apart. There was some- 
thing peculiarly uncanny about seeing this 
radiance — like gas not ignited until a short 
distance from the jet — issuing from one's 
own body. " Mine's yellow," I remarked. 
" Exactly as Forsyth said." 
. " Good," agreed Thompson. " I'll just 
have a look myself and then I'll tell you all 
about it." 

He, in his turn, looked through the screen 
at the daylight and then turned to us. He 
nodded his head with some satisfaction. 

" I see the colours also," he said. " It is 
curious that the three of us should be able to 
see them. Anyone can see the mist of the 
aura, but only a minority can actually see 
its colour. We three are evidently highly 
susceptible subjects." 

" But what is it that one sees ? " asked 
Forsyth. " I can see the halos all round 
both of you plainly still." 

" You will see them for an hour or so yet," 
replied Thompson. " The blue solution in 
this screen — it is a solution of dicyanin, but 
I don't know the exact formula — has the 
peculiar property of enhancing the recep- 
tivity of the optic nerve, or of the sense- 
organs behind it. This effect persists for 
some hours before it finally dies away." 

" But what is it ? " queried Forsyth, now 
thoroughly interested. " Electricity ? " 

"No," replied Thompson. "What you 
see are the Becquerel ' N ' rays — which is 

Digitized by \jOOgk' 

merely a name tor an incompletely under- 
stood radio-activity of the human body. 
Certain people — those of the temperament 
called * psychic ' — can see them at all times 
without any special preparation. It explains 
the old story of the halo and the aura. The 
colour varies considerably with the health, 
character, and mental activity of the in- 
dividual — as also does the straightness of the 
rays. Yours, for example, my friend, are 
drooping in a way that suggests your urgent 
need of medical care." 

" It's uncanny," observed Forsyth. " One 
would never have suspected it." 

Thompson shrugged his shoulders. 

" There is much in the mystery of life that 
one would never suspect," he said. " This 
is only another example of the insufficiency 
of our normal senses. What do you know 
of the universe that surrounds you ? The 
merest fraction ! Consider ! '*' He sat him- 
self down in a chair, put his finger-tips — still 
emitting the blue rays — together in the way 
he had when he was about to expound one 
of his philosophical theses. " How do you 
perceive anything ? How do you perceive 
us here, for example ? By vibrations 
emitted from us which impinge upon your 
sensory nerves and are transmitted by them 
to cerebral centres. Every thought-impulse 
in my brain, for example — modifies those 
vibrations," he continued. ,4 But — and this 
is the important point — only a fractional per- 
centage of the total range of known vibrations 
is perceptible to our normal sensory system. 
We only know anything because we register 
the vibrations emanating from it — and if 
you display graphically on a chart all known 
vibrations and allot one inch for those of 
which the correlations are known, you would 
need a chart a mile long to express the 
unknown remainder." 

" Which are the * N ' rays, then ? " asked 

" The * N ' rays are those immediately 
beyond the ultra-violet — more than one 
thousand billions of vibrations a second. 
Normally unperceived, the dicyanin increases 
the susceptibility of human vision sufficiently 
to include them, just as under hashish, for 
example, the perception of sound is enor- 
mously enhanced. It is a fact — one can't 
say how — that they do correspond in some 
way to the mental, emotional, and physical 
state of the human individual. Certain 
people — those psychically perceptive people 
who can see the aura without the preliminary 
use of the dicyanin screen — allege that 
changes in the inner psychic entity so 
strongly affect the vibrations emanated from 
it that they can at times visualize what they 
call ' thought-forms," built up by the mental 
action of the person they are looking at." 

" By Jove ! " exclaimed Forsyth. " I'd 



Second Sight 

like to see the thought-forms round that 
scoundrel, Ahmed Hassan ! " 

'* It would be worth trying ! " I ejaculated, 
seized with the idea. 

Thompson nodded. 

" It is just possible we might get a clue," 
he said, thoughtfully, ' if only from changes 
in his aura when we mention the subject. 
I don't know about more than that — although 
the dicyanin has made all three of us 
virtually ' psychics ' — clairvoyants. The 

effect will persist for some time yet " 

He reflected for a moment and then jumped 
up from his -chair in some excitement. 

" We'll try it, Forsyth ! His thoughts- 
whatever else- they are — are vibrations in the 
grey matter of his brain. If those vibrations 
reach our abnormally heightened con- 
sciousness — focused on the subject as they 
are — we might be able to get some hint from 
them, to reconstruct the hidden picture in 
his mind. Philosophically, the thing is 
possible ! " 

" He'll be here at any moment," I put in. 
" He promised to come round this afternoon." 

" Let's try it ! " urged Forsyth. " We 
can't neglect anything — fanciful or not 1 " 

"There's no fancy about this," replied 
Thompson. " It's no more fanciful than a 
wireless operator listening at his instruments. 
He may hear nothing ; on the other hand— — " 
He left his thought uncompleted, pondering 
evidently the practicability of a scheme that 
had suddenly occurred to him. " We want 
something to fire the train — to cause an 
explosion in his mind," he said, rather to 
himself than to us. " Let me see ! " He 
stood for a moment withdrawn in reflection. 
Then he turned to Forsyth. " Have you 
anything belonging to Miss Mansfield — 
anything that would strongly suggest her 
personality ? " 

Forsyth blushed. " A photograph ? " he 
hazarded, diffidently. 

'" Excellent ! Let me have it ! " 

FRSYTH went to his room and returned 
with a very good photograph of the 
girl. Her signature " Netta " was 
scrawled across the bottom. 

Thompson took it with a grunt of approval 
and thrust it into his pocket. 

" Now we'll all of us reinforce our sus- 
ceptibility by another look through the 
screen," he said. 

We did so, in turn. The auras emanating 
from each of us, in the room once more 
darkened to a half-light, were more vivid 
than ever. It was noticeable how Forsyth's 
rays straightened out in response to the 
eager activity of his mind. 

" We'd better get thcfee revolvers of ours," 
he said. " One never knows. He may show 

Digitized by C-OOgle 

It was obvious that, to Forsyth, there was 
no question of Hassan's culpability — to him 
the problem was merely to demonstrate it ; 
but I by no means shared the confident 
certainty expressed in his tone. Apart from 
the doubtful chances of our experiment, we 
had not the slightest proof that the young 
man was implicated in the affair. However, 
Thompson curtly approved the suggestion, 
and we all slipped our revolvers into our 

A moment later there was a step outside. 

'* Sit down and look normal ! " com- 
manded Thompson. " Let me do the 

We had scarcely settled ourselves when 
there was a tap on the door, and, in response 
to Thompson's " Come in ! " the door opened 
and Ahmed Hassan entered. 

In the renewed gloom, as he closed the 
door behind him, it was uncanny to see 
that dapper young Turk standing there, 
silhouetted against a sombre curtain which 
hung over the door, all unconscious of the 
aureole of coloured rays emanating from his 
body. I was struck by the peculiarly livid 
hue of the shifting play of the reds and 
yellows that flickered round him. 

" In darkness ? " he said, gaily. " It's 
past the hour of the siesta ! " 

Thompson rose to greet him. 

" Our friend Forsyth here has a headache," 
he explained. 

Hassan made a gesture of polite com- 

" Poor Mr. Forsyth ! " he said. " Alas 1 
that I have no news for him." Even as he 
spoke, I saw his aura change to a violent 
red — and then go colourless. It was as 
though, by a quick effort of his will, he 
checked an instinctive thought, forced his 
inner mind to blankness. By contrast with 
the suave smile unmodified upon his counten- 
ance, the phenomenon was curiously striking. 
I heard Forsyth gasp at my side and I put 
my hand on his arm in a grip which held him 
silent. Blissfully unconscious of the thrilled 
interest with which we regarded him, Ahmed 
Hassan smiled round upon us with an 
expression that suggested a merely altruistic 
concern, a participation in our anxieties born 
only of good-natured courtesy. " Ah," he 
said, unctuously, 4t I myself would give much 
to see Miss Mansfield's charming face again." 

At that moment, Thompson, who was 
standing fairly close to him, pulled out his 
handkerchief and blew his nose with factitious 
violence. Forsyth's photograph, dragged 
out with the handkerchief, fell face-down- 
wards upon the floor, apparently unnoticed. 
Ahmed Hassan, all supple politeness, bent 
down to pick up the card, turned it over 
deftly — with the instinct of the practised 
intriguer — for a glance at the other side. 


F. Britten Austin 


With some difficulty we dragged our friend away and held him back. ' Don't be 
lool, Forsyth!' said Thompson, angrily. 'Killing a man won't help u*.' " 

by LiGOgle 



Second Sight 

There was perhaps a touch of superstition 
in his recognition of the features which smiled 
at him in such prompt answer to his wish. 
He certainly started as he straightened 
himself and stepped back — and the aureole 
about him leaped into livid colourings, which 
fluctuated around him like the lurid flames 
which flicker over the heart of a disturbed 

On the instant — before he had uttered a 
word — my heart almost stopped with awed 
astonishment. What was that which built 
itself up like a ghost beside him ? Neita 
Mansfield I — Netta Mansfield writhing, her 
head pulled back, across her mouth a cloth 
whose ends were held by somebody unseen, 
her wrists thrust forward and twisting in 
vain efforts to escape from — from two 
spectral hands that emanated from Ahmed 
Hassan's body ! Yet his material hands 
still held the photograph at which he gazed. 
Was he for a moment involuntarily visualiz- 
ing the guilt he was so anxious to conceal — a 
visualization in some way transmitted to our 
heightened faculties ? I dug my nails into 
Forsyth's quivering arm, forcing him into 
immobility. In another instant the image 
had vanished. 

AHMED HASSAN, his unsuspected 
aureole flickering wildly for yet a 
moment before its perturbation was 
quelled by that violent red flash of his will, 
stood smiling at us with a perfect self- 

14 The lady's photograph ! " he said, hand- 
ing it with a little bow to Thompson. " Let 
us take it as a happy omen ! " 

" It is more than that ! " broke in 

Forsyth, violently. My warning pressure 
silenced him. 

" I do not quite understand ? " 

queried Hassan, turning to him with his 
suave smile — but I saw a quiver shoot 
through those fluctuating hues that en- 
veloped him. " Have I the happiness to 
hear that Miss Mansfield is found ? " 

Thompson went behind him unobtrusively 
and locked the door. His glance sought 
mine as his hand went to his pocket. I 
imitated his action. The next moment he 
had side-stepped in front of Hassan, holding 
him covered with a revolver. 

" She is — virtually ! " said Thompson, with 
a grim smile. " Put those hands up ! 
Up I " 

Hassan's right hand, which had made an 
instinctive movement towards his pocket, 
shot up into the air in company with his left. 
He glanced round to Forsyth and me, to see 
us both upon our feet, revolvers levelled. 

No man ever looked upon a queerer sight 
than those two figures confronting one 
another in that strange radiance <?f their 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

auras — Thompson in a nimbus of steady, 
vivid blue light that played about the barrel 
of his threatening weapon— Hassan with 
both arms high above his head, the effulgence 
streaming from his finger-tips, enveloped in 
those spectral flames that flickered wildly 
through every variation of livid hue. I 
glanced at Forsyth by my side. His aura 
glowed with a singular intensity. 

" What does this mean — this — this un- 
warrantable outrage ? " stammered Hassan, 
fear and anger chasing each other across his 
face in curious consonance with the shifting 
play of light about him. 

" It means that you have only one chance 
to leave this room alive, Mr. Hassan," 
replied Thompson, in a steady voice. " And 
that is to tell us where you have hidden 
Miss Mansfield ? " 

"I — I ? " he stammered. "I have not 
seen Miss Mansfield since she was abducted." 

" Since you abducted her," Thompson 
corrected him. " I know you haven't. 
You haven't dared. For all that, you have 
hidden her — until the search should be 
given up. Out with it ! We know ! " He 
stepped back, out of range of a possible 
snatch at his weapon, and joined us so 
that we confronted Hassan in a semicircle of 
levelled revolvers. 

" I ? I hide her ? " laughed Hassan, 
scornfully, in a brave attempt at bluff. Once 
more there was that significant red flash. 
" I no more know where she is than you do ! " 

The words were scarcely out of his mouth 
when, against the dark background of the 
curtain of the door, we all three saw a 
spectral picture of a house-front with a 
sign across it in large Greek characters. 

" Stavropoulos ! " ejaculated Forsyth. 
" Hotel Stavropoulos ! " 

Hassan started in amazement at the words. 
Once more, although of course ignorant of it, 
he had involuntarily visualized the fact he 
was anxious to conceal. 

" The Hotel Stavropoulos ! " repeated 
Thompson. " You have told us ! " 

Hassan uttered a hoarse scream of rage — a 
wild babble of Turkish words, where I only 
distinguished something like " Shaitan ! " — 
and flung himself madly at Forsyth. 

" You shall not have her ! " he cried, his 
voice half-drowned by the deafening de- 
tonation of Forsyth's revolver. 

He went over backwards to the floor, and 
lay motionless with blood trickling from 
his shoulder. 

Thompson went to the window-shutters 
and flung them open. In the full daylight 
the phantasmagoria of those uncanny auras 
vanished like a dream. He glanced at 

" Look to him, Harford ! " he said. He 
went quickly arrets to the telephone which 


F. Britten Austin 


connected us with our own headquarters — a 
military line belonging to the Signal Service. 

"Hallo! Hallo!" I heard his voice as 
I bent over the prostrate Hassan, pulling 
away the clothes from the shattered shouldejr. 
" Hallo ! — Put me through to Intelligence. — 
Hallo ! Is that Intelligence ? — Dr. Thomp- 
son speaking. Do you know the Hotel 
Stavropoulos ?— What ? All right. I'll 
wait." There was a pause. " What ? In 
the Greek quarter ? A small place ? Right ! 
— Will you search the house at once ? I 
have reason to believe that Miss Mansfield is 
concealed there. — Good ! — And I want some 
military police here immediately — to take 
over a prisoner. I'll explain later ! Right ! 
— You're sending a car straightaway to that 
Stavropoulos place ? Good ! Let us know 
the result, will you ? Thanks." He rang 

We lifted the unconscious Hassan to a 
sof^t and bound up his wound. 

Then we waited,, the three of us, in a 
nervous tension when the minutes seemed 
like hours. It seemed an eternity before the 
telephone-bell startled us. 

Forsyth sprang to the instrument. 

" Yes — yes ! " he assured it, eagerly. 
" What ? " He swung round to us, his face 
lit up. " She was there ! — She's found ! 
Found ! " 

Then he went down on the floor in a faint. 

THE rest is anti-climax. Hassan had, in 
fact, abducted the girl and tucked her 
away in the back bedroom of a fifth- 
rate hotel in a rookery of the Fanar quarter. 
You can guess the kind of shop. Aware 
that he was being watched, he had not 
dared to go near the place. As Thompson 
surmised, he was waiting until she was 
given up for lost or dead. An Allied 
Tribunal took a serious # view of the case — 
but they had to hand him over to a Turkish 

prison, of course, and doubtless he is long 
since at liberty. However, I guess that 
doesn't worry Mrs. Forsyth in California. 

" Some yarn ! " commented one of the 
listeners. " But I still don't understand, 
doctor, how you could see those visions. It 
seems supernatural to me." 

Dr. Harford glanced at his watch. 

" I haven't time to go into the subtleties 
of telepathy," he said. " But listen ! When 
I describe something to you — a snow-clad 
mountain, for instance — you see it, don't 
you, with your mind's eye ? Normally, it 
is a clumsy process. The thought- vibrations 
in my brain set muscles into motion which 
propagate sound- vibrations in the air between 
me and you. Those sound-vibrations impinge 
on your auditory nerves and propagate 
nerve-vibrations to the receiving-centres in 
your brain and — somehow or other, no one 
can tell you how — you re-translate those 
back into my original picture. But suppose 
that you are in such a state of abnormal 
receptivity that those thought-vibrations — 
certainly not confined to that conglomerate 
of electrons in microscopically loose juxta- 
position which is my skull — reach your 
senses without the intermediary of the 
sound-vibrations. You will still build up 
the picture, and, if the suggestion is strong 
enough, you will build it up * like an ex- 
teriorized vision — just as a hypnotic actually 
sees things which are suggested to him. In 
our case, our senses were heightened by the 
dicyanin, as I explained to you — Hassan 
had to make concrete in his mind the ideas 
he wished to conceal, he had to identify 
them, as it were — and we picked up his 
unconscious ' wireless * and visualized its 
contents. It's second sight, if you like, but 
there's nothing supernatural about it. 
Satisfied ? " 

" It's plausible, anyway," said the sceptic. 


The statements made in this story about the Becquerel " N " rays, and their emanation— as 
described — from the human body, are scientifically correct. 

The standard work upon the subject is Dr. Kilner's Human Atmosphere/' published by 
Rebman, and afterwards by Heinemann (Medical Books), Ltd., in 191 2 or 1913. A new edition 
was published last year by Kegan Paul, Ltd. 

A box of apparatus such as described was put upon the market before the war by Bailliere, 
Tindall, and Cox, the well-known medical publishers of Covent Garden, London. Another box, of 
slightly different type, was issued by Heinemann (Medical Books), Ltd. The dicyanin came 
horn Germany, could not be renewed during the war, and is, I believe, still unprocurable. 

Of course, for the purposes of the story I have taken an extreme case and extended it on 
lines for which scientific warranty is not lacking. For well-established instances, too numerous to 
quote, of the involuntary visualization of a telepathic impression — external perception is, says 
Taine f only a true hallucination — the reader is referred to Podmore and Gurney*s " Phantasms 
of the Living. 9 * 

by Google 

Original from 







Official Photographer to Their Majesties the King and Queen and 
H.R.H. the Prince of Wales. 

I DO not remember, but I am told that 
it was at Windsor that I first saw the 
light of day, back in the early 'seven- 
ties. My father was employed on the 
Royal estate there, and as soon as I was old 
enough I was sent to the Royal School in 
Windsor Great Park. 

It was whilst at school that I first came into 
contact with Royalty. The boys were en- 
joying a cricket match when H.R.H. Prince 
Christian came along, and after watching the 
game for a while he offered half a sovereign 
to the first boy who could " out " the bats- 
man. To my intense joy it was I who 
succeeded in hitting the wicket, and a few 
minutes later I marched proudly up to receive 
the prize. It was not until several hours 
later that I discovered that I had been 
presented with a new farthing — and to this 
day I do not know whether it was an error 
or a practical joke. 

His Royal Highness was, however, one of 
the kindest men that ever lived, and many a 
time he and Prince Victor would meet us on 
the way home from school and tell us where 
we could find a brace of rabbits — usually 
behind a certain tree. 

The years soon passed and brought me to 
the age when (in those days) scholastic 
activities came to an end. Before leaving 
school I was the lucky recipient of a beautiful 
Bible, which was presented to me personally 
by Queen Victoria. It is inscribed " For 
Diligence and Punctuality," and is still one 
of my most treasured possessions. 

by Google 

My first official position on the Royal 
estate was that of " donkey boy," and my 
duties consisted in looking after a very large 
mule given to Queen Victoria by Lord 
Kitchener on his return from Egypt in 1884, 
and which had originally belonged to the 
Mad Mahdi. At this time I often used to 
meet Queen Victoria and John Brown (her 
favourite attendant) on their way down from 
the Castle to Frogmore for breakfast, and 
they nearly always stopped and spoke to me. 
Her Majesty's interest in me seemed to 
deepen considerably after I mentioned the 
Bible she had given me. Besides acting as 
'* donkey boy," I was also employed with my 
father on the Royal farm, but after two years 
of this my youthful spirit of adventure 
evidenced itself, and in 1892 I joined the 
Army. I served in the 3rd Dragoon Guards, 
and afterwards in the Glamorganshire Yeo- 
manry (in which I had the unique experience 
of holding the Regimental Number 1 in 
" A " Squadron), and was privileged to ride 
in the Coronation procession of the late King 

Shortly after this I ended my military 
career and obtained an appointment in the 
household of a lady of title, whose twin 
daughters were Maids of Honour to Queen 
Alexandra, and it was here that I obtained 
my first intrexluction to photography. It 
so happened that these ladies were the proud 
possessors of a camera each, and the develop- 
ment of their films was entrusted to me. To 
tell the truths I made a mess not only of my 


Ernest Brooks, O.B*E. 


clothes and the room in which I worked, but 
of the ft]m$ also. However, I had discovered 
a hobby which interested me intensely, and 
I immediately longed to possess a camera of 
my own. Unfortunately, the low state of my 
finances did not allow of a cash-down pur- 
chase, and the object of my desires was 
eventually obtained by a number of weekly 
payments of one shilling at the local chemist's. 

The Prince of Wales and 
Prince Albert examining 
a target after shooting 

My first step into my 
new profession was to take 
a photograph of the cook, 
which, to my intense sur- 
prise, turned out quite 
well. Not long after this 
I chanced to read an ad- 
vertisement in a newspaper 
to the effect that money 
could be made by taking 
photographs of well -known 
people or important events 
and forwarding them to a 
certain address, and I deci- 
ded to try the experiment. 

I therefore obtained the 
consent of a lady of title 
whom I knew to take a 
photograph of her, and for- 
warded a copy to the ad- 
vertised add ress . A bo u t 
a fortnight later I received 
a letter saying that the 
picture hatl been placed 
\vith several newspapers, 
and enclosing a cheque 
for seven guineas, So 

Digitized by \j*K 

astonished was I at the result of my first 
effort that I immediately decided to leave 
the work I was doing and confine my attention 
to taking photographs of people I knew at 
Windsor, The lady of the house was very 
enthusiastic at the idea, and offered to help 
me in any way she could — of which offer I 
was glad to avail myself in many directions 

So off I went to Windsor once 
again, and walked straight up to 
Cumberland Lodge to ask 
H.K.H. Prince Christian if I 
might " snap " the Lodge. Upon 
my mentioning the fact that I 
was an old Park School boy, he 
called out Princess Victoria and 
her sister Marie Louise, and the 
trio graciously consented to pose 
for me- The result was excellent, 
and I lost no time in forwarding 
it to the same address as before. 
Once whilst I was wandering 
from point to point taking 
photographs of the Royal House- 
hold, a gentleman approached me 

Queen Alexandra's favourite photograph of the late King 
Edward, taken on the occasion of Hh Majesty's last shoot. 



The King and the Prince of Wales 

and asked if I was taking pictures for a hobby 
or for the Press. I informed him that I was 
taking them for a newspaper and that I 
could obtain 10s. 6d # each for them. 

Then, feeling rather communicative, I 
added : u There's one man here for whose 
photograph I could get at least five guineas." 

" Oh ! Who's that ? " he 

" The Duke of Richmond/' 
I replied, whereupon, after 
expressing surprise at the 
Duke's presence in the 
vicinity, he walked away, 
About ten minutes later he 
came back again and asked 
if I had been successful in 
obtaining a photograph of 
the Duke, Upon my reply- 
ing in the negative he asked 
me if I would know the Duke 
when I saw him, to which I 
replied " Yes," with the ut- 
most self-assurance. As he 
walked away I noticed a 
smile flickering upon his 
hps, and soon afterwards he 
returned for the third time 
accompanied by two ladies, 
and asked me at what dis- 
tance my camera was focused. 

11 Seven yards, sir," I said. 

" Very well, then, stand 
seven yards away and take 
that photograph of the Duke 
of Richmond/" he replied. 

The Young Pr i rices' Pranks. 

I led a very active exis- A remarkable 
tence, starting out early in 
the morning on a bicycle and 
calling on people I thought were interesting 
enough for the papers, I also used to follow 
the hunting with the Garth Hounds, where 
Prince Christian would introduce me to the 
various notabilities who attended the meets* 
In this way I became known to a large circle 
of people, and, in consequence, considerably 
increased my working field, 

Whilst acting as official photographer at 
Court I was often called upon to give a 
cinematograph entertainment on a Pat he- 
scope machine for the benefit of the Royal 
children. I remember that an evening of 
this description would never pass without my 
hearing the high-pitched voice of little Prince 
John demanding "The Runaway Horse," a 
film which never failed to amuse, principally, 
I think, because it depicted, among other 
things, a baby being thrown out of its 
perambulator ? In youth the Royal sense 
of humour is apparently much the same as 
anybody else's. 

In their younger davs the Princes were 

DigiiiAd byV^OOgie 

very willing subjects for the photographer, 
although it was not considered politic to 
publish the more intimate photos of them. 
One reproduced on the previous page shows 
the Prince of Wales and Prince Albert 
examining a target after shooting practice. 
Whilst on the subject of the young 

photograph of the King tiger- shooting in India. 

few yards of 

Princes, I call to mind an incident which 
occurred at Frogmore House just before I 
commenced my photographic activities there. 
The postman was on his rounds of the Castle 
one morning and happened to leave his 
hand -cart for a few moments. On returning 
he discovered, to his dismay, that a highly 
important mail -bag was missing. He searched 
high and low, but no trace of it could be 
found, and finally he was obliged to report 
the matter at the house, A systematic in- 
vestigation was organized, and the missing 
bag was eventually discovered hidden in the 
laurels close by the spot where the hand -cart 
had stood. Further inquiry revealed the fact 
that the whole affair had been a boyish 
prank on the part of the young Princes, and 
to this day I still have a clear recollection of 
the noise which the present Prince of Wales 
made when he was " spanked * ? in his bath 
as a punishment \ 

Not manv hours aftef the rumour of 
Princess Ena's engagement to King Alfonso 


Ernest Brooks, (XB.E. 


m * 

I was preparing for a trip to Spain— my first 
excursion abroad. I was no stranger to the 
Princess, as it had been my pleasure to 
accompany heron a ferreting expedition with 
my father some years previously — an in- 
cident which she graciously called to mind 
when introducing me to King Alfonso — and 

His Majesty succeeded in slopping the two animals within a 
one another. 

I had the exclusive privilege of obtaining the 
first posed photograph of the happy couple 
together. Later I went to the wedding, and 
was not very far away when the historical 
bomb explosion occurred. 

Bluffing the German Official*. 

Bluff is absolutely essential to a good Press 
photographer, and I have been obliged to 
make use of it on many occasions. Perhaps 
the most amusing of all was on the occasion 
of the annual manoeuvres in Germany many 
years ago, I happened to lack the necessary 
passes, so obtained a wrapper from a bottle 
of " Harlene " hair restorer, with the large 
red seal and many signatures. Immediately 
the official on duty saw this he touched his 
helmet and allowed me to proceed, and a 
few minutes later I was in the presence of 
Prince Albert of Sc hi eswig- Hoi stein, the 
only son of Prince Christian, whom I had 
known for many years. He mentioned my 

VoL lxiL-14, 

name to the Emperor, after which everything 
was plain sailing* 

When I first accompanied the late King 
Edward and the German Emperor on a 
shooting expedition in Windsor Park, I 
decided to leave my camera behind me lest 
they should object to being photographed, 
but on succeeding occasions 
Prince Christian insisted up- 
on a pictorial record being 
made, and I managed to 
secure some very valuable 

King Edward** Latt Shoot. 

On one of these expedi- 
tions I had approached 
within a few yards of His 
Majesty when he turned 
round suddenly and said, 
' Why do you cotne so 
close ? " With due respect 
I explained that I wanted to 
photograph His Majesty's 
features as large as possible 
on the plate, whereupon he 
seemed quite satisfied with 
my explanation and told me 
to " Co ahead," As a result 
1 obtained the picture repro- 
duced on page 205, w f hich 
Queen Alexandra considers to 
be a more life-like study than 
any other photograph of 
King Edward in existence. 

Not long after this I was 
appointed to proceed with 
the Prince of Wales (now 
lung) to South Africa, but, 
owing to the death of King 
Edward, Prince George came 
to the throne, and the Duke of Connaught 
went instead. 

We left England in the Balmoral Castle, 
and when* we reached the Equator the cere- 
mony of " crossing the line " afforded me an 
exceptional opportunity to obtain some 
unique photographs. The Duke received the 
Order of the Bloater, the Duchess the Tin- 
opener, and the Princess had the Bell-push. 
I was busily at work with my camera when 
the Duchess " spotted " me, and insisted 
that sentence should be passed upon me — 
this, by the way, after dozens of others had 
passed through the bath, and the water was 
somewhat thick ! Instead of taking my 
ducking quietly I w T as foolish enough to 
attempt to pull one of Neptune's assistants 
into the bath, for which I was ducked six 
times instead of three, and the more I tried 
to yell for breathing space the longer they 
held me under. Great amusement was 
caused by my rapid evacuation of the scene 
of operations when I was eventually released. 



The King and the Prince of Wales 

The South African tour was a delightful 
experience, and I was particularly charmed 
by the scenery at the Victoria Falls, Zambezi, 
where, by the way, 1 unwittingly committed 
a breach of etiquette by presenting the dusky 
King Lewanika with a silk hat, which I had 
brought out from England for official func- 
tions and never used. 

Kins George and the Tiger** 

My next appointment was that of Official 
Photographer on the tour of Their Majesties 
the King and Queen to India, where, in 
addition to the usual photographs of the 
gorgeous State functions, I succeeded in 
obtaining a number of exceptional pictures 
of tiger shooting in the jungle. We left the 
Roval train at about 
midday and travelled 
by car over a speciaJl y- 
made road. We had 
a little excitement on 
the way. A leopard 
charged the headlights 
of one of the cars, and, 
I fear, came off rather 
badly, for he slunk 
away into the under- 
growth, looking a sorry 
sight, obviously deter- 
mined not to repeat 
the experiment. 

To ensure that His 
Majesty should enjoy 
the maximum of sport 
in the short time at 
his disposal, the Maha- 
rajah arranged that a 
bullock should be tied 
up to a tree near the 
river. This, of course, 
attracted all the 
tigers for miles around, 
and after they had 
gorged t he mse 1 ves 
they fell, asleep in the 
long grass by the 
riverside, A huge circle 
of eight hundred ele- 
phants — about half a 
mile in diameter — was 
then formed, and the 
shikarees proceeded to 
work to stir up the 
sleeping beasts. As the 
tigers were about to break cover, I endea- 
voured to get as near to His Majesty as 
possible, in the hope of obtaining a snap- 
shot of him in the act of firing. Judge 
of my amazement when I suddenly heard 
His Majesty exclaim, " Oh, get out of the 
way, man!" I noticed, however, that his 
tone was jocular, and that there was a 
Smile upon his face* Before I had time to 

obey the King's command two male tigers 
suddenly sprang out into a small open 
space, and His Majesty with two splendid 
shots stopped them both, within ten yards 
of one another. As the report of the 
second shot rang out, my shutter clicked 
— and I had taken the photograph repro- 
duced on pages 206 and 2 07— which I con- 
sider to be one of my most remarkable 

The Kins** Joke, 
His Majesty has a very keen sense of 
humour, and I remember on one occasion he 
was highly delighted because he had per- 
suaded his private hairdresser (whom, for 
the purposes of this story, I will call X.) to 
join the party on one of the tiger-shooting 

expeditions. Now X, 


w * 






yf k 2^0 

■gjr | V 



An interesting photograph of the Prince 

of Wales walking with CoL Clive Wigram 

a few days previous to his investiture 

had rather an excitable 
temperament, and as 
we were moving 
through the long grass 
an animal darted right 
in front of the leading 

" See that tiger, 
X. ? " shouted the 

1 ( Yes, your Majesty," 
came the polite 

" No, you didn't. 
That was a deer/* 
answered the King, 
amidst much laughter. 
Upon my return 
from the Indian tour 
I opened a little busi- 
ness in the Bucking- 
ham Palace Road, 
where 1 w^s honoured 
with several visits 
from members of the 
Royal Family, 

I was fortunate 
enough to have the 
services of the daugh- 
ter of a well-known 
M.P. as receptionist, 
and one day whilst I 
was at work in the 
dark-room beneath the 
studio she came down 
to inform me that two 
boys and a girl were 
waiting upstairs to see me, and that they 
were in a great hurry. 1 had just told ner 
to inform them that I would not be long, when 
I heard their footsteps descending the stairs, 
and I recognized the voices of the Prince of 
Wales, Princess Mary, and Prince Albert, 
They had come to s«e the results of the pic- 
tures 1 had taken of the Prince's Investiture 
at Carnarvon. 


Ernest Brooks, O.B.E. 


Princess Mary in her Confirma- 
tion drew, 

A few days previous to the In- 
vestiture, by the way, I took several 
snapshots of the Prince enjoying 
his early morning walk in company 
with CoIAVigram, one of which illus- 
trates this article. For the exclu- 
sive right to reproduce this one of 
the London daily papers offered me 
a huge sum of money, but I was not 
allowed to give any one journal 
preferential treatment, and liad to 
refuse it. 

In those days the Prince hated 
the sight of a camera or of a news- 
paper reporter, but experience has 

from the recent pictorial records of his Colonial 

Princess Mary is exceptionally pleasing to photo- 
graph. Besides possessing a natural grace of pose, 
she always seems so anxious to help the photographer 
in every possible way, and her speaking voice is as 
sweet as her disposition, Incidentally, I do not 
think it is generally known that Her Royal Highness 
is a very accomplished pianist. 

I have had the honour of photographing Princess 
Mary on several occasions, among the most momen- 
tous of which was the day of her confirmation, when 
I took my camera into her private room immediately 
before she proceeded to the Buckingham Palace chapel. 
Tins photograph has not been reproduced previously. 

The King and Ffrthiom* 

The other portrait of Her Royal Highness which 
accompanies this article is of considerable interest 
in view of the fact that it reveals something of the 
Kings tastes in regard to feminine fashions. Upon 
seeing the first print His Majesty raised an objection 
to the width of the panniers on cither side of the 

changed his opinion, as will be see 


The Queen's favourite portrait of Prince** Mary. 

Note the alterations in the pannier effect, which 

were carrier! out .alt the King's request. 



The King and the Prince of Wales 

Fnrvjtw \ frof-fc axrf wi^r**! me to Lav* 
tfjtm takrti o-j* oc *_•*£ f^rjratrw, Ajixaou* 
i*ot to *M*rtri Her koval Kiz^ms*, I mad* 
a con^or^^e by pea^tmg otit a pr^raon 
of tfct oif+rwiiZfE dr*;wy p f>Jt tus wafi Dot 
k rffrier,t for Ifis Majesty, and a second 
alteration had to be ma/:* before te was 
tainted, A cl/M? jrAjrtCtrifl of the photo- 
l^apfi w;Jl reveal tirfr onj£ out.-iiies of the 
frock. Ttafr, by Unt way, ia the (queen's 
favourite portrait of Frmc*** Mary, 

An-TUrfT interesting correction, made by 
the Kmg p*rv,rially, is reveakd on the 
Koyal Christ ma* -card for joj 3. 1 ^ul> 
nutted a proof to His Majesty with the 
printed title M Gwar4%' Review, April, 1913," 
bat he ordered it to be changed to " fte\iew 
of Brigade of Guards Hyde Park, April, 
ioij," The jnAcrjptjon reproduced is id the 
King'* own handwriting, 

A Royal Objcct^L««on in Economy, 
in private? life the Koyal 1 ami J y live very 
-imply, and when he is out of the public 
eye Hm Majesty often sacrifices appearance 
for 00m fort. Indeed, whilst in conversation 
with him not long ago J noticed that one of 
the fchot-ft he was wearing was adorned with 
a patch ! Another point of interest is that 
Hit Majesty attributes his good health 
largely to hi* partiality to cocoa and 
lb* ng^r's Food. 

Tbc King is extrem ity partjc^laj 12: tie 
matter of p^ctt^airty- I resseirber cc cue 
octagon 1 had beer; croerwi to attend at 
B&ckjngham Paiace to pe*rTcerapfc Their 
Matties at ten ir-mirtes to twelve. The 
King had been inspecting seme troops* 
and some cuavctdabie delay ttade fcim 
an hour late. After cocsidexabje dxscu&scn 
it was decided that I was to take the 
photograph, and I was instructed to proceed 
as quickly as possible, 

1 focused my camera as rapidly as I could, 
but found that the King was not quite in the 
best position. 

" Would your Majesty mind coming a 
little more this way ? " 1 asked, in my best 
professional tone. 

The King complied with mv wish. ; then, 
apparently as an after- thought, he leaned 
right forward and exclaimed : " Don't talk 
so much, man — get on with it ! " 

Next came the war F and ^tfter a certain 
amount of service at home I volunteered to 
go on the Queen Elizabeth as Official Photo- 
grapher in the Dardanelles. Later I pro- 
ceeded to Gal li poll and SaJonica, and thence 
to France, and it need hardly be said that I 
had sufficient experiences to nil a book. 
However, space will not permit me to go 
into details, and I must content myself by 
saving that not only did 1 obtain a number 
of remarkable photographs (some of which 

OV**P* Hivirwr. A* ML IPtS 


f k^^-f^j, tpLAU tyt/fi 

The Royal Christmaft-card for 1913, the title of which was altered by the King 
personally. The inscription i* in HU Majesty** o^n handwriting, 

University of Michigan 

Ernest Brooks, O.B.E, 


nearly cost me my life), but I also had the 
pleasure of meeting many famous people 
whilst at G,H,Q., including Sir Douglas Haig, 
Sir William Or pen (who presented me with a 
portrait of myself, reproduced below), and 
many others. 

The Prince «■ a Machine-Gunner* 

I did not get many opportunities 
photograph the Prince of Wales whilst 
France, and 1 am 
afraid I cannot 
t e 1 1 a n y n e w 
anecdotes re- 
gardin g His 
Royal Highness 
n the trenches. 
It may, however, 
come as a sur- 
prise to some 
people to learn 
that upon more 
than one occasion 
the Prince has 
flown over the 
Austrian lines 
and poured 
machine-gun Are 
into the enemy's 

After the war, 
my next official 
appointment was 
to accompany 
His Royal High- 
n e s s on his 
Colonial tour, 
my pictorial re- 
cords of which 
were published 
all over the 
world. The his- 
tory of the tour 
itself is also well 
known, so that I 
need only confine 
myself to a few 
more intimate 
details which 
may enable 
readers to view- 
events and personalities from a new angle. 


A pencil 




The Mishap to the Royal Train* 

One of the outstanding incidents of the 
tour was the accident to the Royal train 
which occurred near Perth, Western 
Australia. When it took place I happened 
to be dozing in a corner seat. A sudden jolt 
awakened me, and a moment later I heard 
somebody exclaim, " My God J The Prince's 
coach has overturned." Knowing from ex- 
perience that the photographer who is always 
keenly on the alert for pictures often has his 

leg pulled, I refused to believe this statement, 
especially in view of the fact that our own 
coach was unaffected. Upon discovering 
that such was really the case, however, and 
having ascertained that the Prince was 
unhurt, my next thought was to fetch my 
ca intra. To my annoyance I suddenly 
remembered that I had already exposed 
every plate I had loaded, so I hastened into 
the improvised dark-room, slipped in two 

fresh plates, and 
hurried out on 
to the line just 
in time to hnd 
the Prince climr> 
ing out of his 
carriage* I 
" snapped M him 
immediately, and 
felt highly elated 
at having pro- 
cured such an 
historical pic- 
ture. A few 
minutes later I 
caught His Royal 
Highness stand- 
ing beside the 
wreckage with a 
lighted cigarette 
and helping to 
remove the lug- 
gage — and I 
snapped him 

It was not un- 
til an hour later 
that I realized, 
to my horror, 
that I had not 
reversed the 
dark-slide in my 
camera, and that 
the two pictures 
had been taken 
on the same 
plate ! I ob- 
tained quite a 
number of good 
photographs of 
the accident 
afterwards, but of course none of them was 
really so valuable as that first one would 
have' been. To think that I, with all my 
experience, should, in my excitement, make 
a mistake that the veriest amateur might 
have avoided ! I kicked myself ! 

The Prince** Jazz Band, 

Whilst travelling in the Royal train the 
Prince was very fond of organizing " rags," 
and His Royal Highness 's own private jazz 
band (ir t which the Prince was a highly 
skilled head -drummer and Admiral Halsey 


the Author, 

by M 



The King and the Prince of Wales 

played the tin whistle) had to be heard to 
be believed.- .-* 

The Prince, by the Way, is also an able 
player on the bagpipes, and, on occasions, 
has even gone so far as to write poetry. f 

The verses which he wrote on the occasion 
o' his crossing the line are printed on this 

Once free from 
the fetters of for- 
mality, the Prince 
becomes an over- 
grown schoolboy, 
full of fun and 
mischief, and ever 
smiling. When he 
attended a dance 
the conductors of 
the various or- 
chestras would al- 
most invariably 
seem to understand 
the Prince's mood, 
making the "duty" 
dances as brief as 
possible, and in- 
creasing the length 
of those His Royal 
Highness seemed 
to be enjoying. 
The Prince always 
chose his own part- 
ners, and cared no- 
thing about their 
social position so 
long as they were 
pleasant girls and 
— in this he was more particular 
own height. At one " jazz " 

King Neptune, I am proud to wear 
This honourable and handsome collar ;* 
Although from all reports I hear ' 
There's still a good deal more to foller. 

I'm glad to meet your charming wife, 
And all the members of your Court ; 
From all I've seen 111 bet my life 
That Amphitrite's quite a sport. 

I hear you're handing out some dope 
To each expectant frightened lad, 
Made up of pills and shaving soap. 
Why, is not that just quite too bad ? 

I hear your Bears —say ! what a noise ! 
They're hungry to begin the baiting. ^ 
I know I'm for it, King ; so, boys* 
Don't let me keep the party waiting ! 

• Thit shouli read ** order." but 1 can't make it rhyme. — E. P. 

photograph of the Prince in his bath, which 
was published in the London papers. Some 
time later His Royal Highness sent for me 
and in a very kindly way explained that the 
King had objected to its publication, and 
had considered it an indiscretion on my part. 
I greatly appreciated the sympathetic manner 
in which I was reprimanded, and it made me 

feel all the more re- 
gretful that I had 
caused the King 

Veises composed by the Prince when 
the line." 


-about his 
dance at 
which I was present the Prince caused con- 
siderable amusement by suddenly leaving the 
floor and joining the orchestra, where he 
changed places with the head-drummer and 
gave a truly remarkable performance on the 
rattles, cymbals, squeakers, and other im- 
pedimenta which go to the making of jazz. 

On board ship, too, whenever the oppor- 
tunity presented itself, His Royal Highness 
would invariably slip away and join the 
"snotties" (midshipmen), with whom he 
engaged in all kinds of amusing horseplay. 

I call to mind that on crossing the line, 
when the Prince had to go through the usual 
"initiation" ceremony and ducking, he 
threatened me that I should have to go 
through it as well, as he contended that 
nobody would take my word that I had 
crossed the line before unless I could show 
some proof. Right up to the last minute I 
feared that the Prince would play some 
prank upon me and arrange for me to be 
" ducked " also, but I managed to escape 
after all. 

Whilst on board the Renown I took a 

How the Prince Took 
to Chewing Gum. 

The Prince, by 
the way, is now an 
habitual ■ " gum- 
chewer." It came 
about in this way. 
We were on a 
shooting expedi- 
tion round about 
Qu'appelle Lakes, 
Regina, and the air 
was so cold that 
the guns were im- 
possible to hold, 
and it was finally 
decided to aban- 
don operations. 
The Royal train 
was telegraphed 
for, and we had an 
hour and a half to 
wait until its ar- 
rival. To pass the 

time the Prince strolled into a little local store, 
and seeing some Wrigley's Chewing Gum dis- 
played upon the counter, he purchased a 
packet. Since then he has taken a great 
liking to it, and, particularly when playing 
polo or some other sport, he will often be 
seen chewing like a full-blooded American. 

I do not know whether it is generally 
known how' the famous " Smiling Prince " 
picture was taken. We had just entered a 
prohibition area, and I was ready to take a 
photograph of the Prince signing the visitors* 
book, when I said to a man who was standing 
beside me, " Say something to make him 

The latter immediately called out, " Be 
careful, sir — you're signing the pledge I " 
At which the Prince lifted his head and 
revealed a beautiful smile. My shutter 
clicked, and I had taken the most popular 
picture of the Prince ever published. 

One of the greatest difficulties we had to 
contend with on tour was the number of 
people who attempted to associate them- 
selves with the Prince in some way or 
another for the sake of self-advertisement. 
A well-known film star offered me the sum 


Ernest Brooks, O.B,B. 


of a thousand dol- 
lars if I would take 
a picture of her 
talki ng to the 
Prince. She 
planned to meet 
him on his return 
from golf, to speak 
to him without 
introduction, and 
to walk alongside 
him — at which mo- 
ment I was to jump 
out with my 
camera. The mo- 
ne tary off e r \v a B 

Our Smiling Prince/* the most popular 
portrait of all. 

very tempting, and I must admit that I 
nearly gave in, but when the actual moment 
arrived for the taking of the picture I realized 
how offended the Prince might be, So I 
backed out. 

A Clever Ruse. 

Needless to say, all sorts and conditions of 
people wanted to be photographed with the 
Prince. In one town we visited, after the 
official reception was over, the Mayor asked 
the Prince if he would do him the honour of 
stepping into his private house and allowing 


An unconventional snapshot of the Piince shaving in his 
camp on the Nipigon River, Canada. 

him to present his family to him. The Prince willingly 
acquiesced, and the Mayor introduced three ladies to him, 
who he said were his wife, his daughter, and his niece. 
After a few minutes' conversation it was suggested 
that a photograph might be taken to commemorate the 
Prince's visit, and His Royal Highness having graciously 
assented, the picture was obtained, 

Later one of the party asked Admiral Halsey 
if he knew the identity of the lady stand- 
ing next to the Prince, and he told him 
that he understood her to be the Mayor's 

"As a matter of fact," he said, "that's 
Mrs, Charlie Chaplin, the cinema star," 

Investigation proved that he was right. 
The whole thing had been a put -up job, and 
the group had been so arranged that the 
figures of the Prince and the film star could 
be cut out and distributed broadcast. It was 
one of the cleverest publicity " stunts " ever 
conceived, and it taught me a lesson to be 
very careful of the identity of the people 
whom I photographed in company with the 

At the end of the tour the Prince made me 
one or two beautiful presents, among which 
was a signed photograph of himself. 

His cheery manner and his entire lack of 
" side * J have already endeared him to the 
hearts of the public, and as one of those who 
have been in personal contact with him for 
many years I can say that he thoroughly 
deserves his popularity 

As I once heard it said of him in America : 
" He's a two hundred per cent, man — a man's 
man and a la lies' man, too/ 1 



and the 




VHE principal 
curse of all 
artistic en- 
deavour to 
secure financial suc- 
cess is that the suc- 
cessful artist requires 
not only an artistic 
but a business sense. 
More especially does 
th is pri nciple appl y 
to the least of all 
the arts — acting. 
Because, from that 
welter of thwarted 
ambition, diseased 
vanitics p and p rsonal 
jealousy which is the British stage, only the 
hardest -headed, hardest-hearted ever emerge 
to London prominence, And p once emerged, 
your prominent actor or actress must needs 
devote at kast two-thirds of his or her time 
to the suppression of other hard-headed, 
hard-hearted mummers — all eager for West- 
end applause and West-end money* 

The law of our stage, therefore, is the law 
of the primeval jungle, the law of ,- big 
business/' the law of all competitive commu- 
nities : death (otherwise an ill -paid provincial 
engagement) to the weak, the poor, and 
such-as-have-no-influence. Which may or 
may not be the reason for the decay of 
British acting in the West-end of London. 

This fight- tcna-finish struggle, however, is 
not carried on in the open. Openly, the 
fighters compliment one another, stroke one 
another, purr over one another. An illusion 
of good manners, peculiar to the profession, 
an illusion of hearty good -will, peculiar 


to the professional, 
cloaks the snarling, 
backbiting tussle 
from all save the 
as tu test eye. 

Nevertheless, even 
in this dark jungle of 
hatred and jealousy, 
Love — as a white 
I n w e r in bin c. k 
s warn p- lands— comes 
occasionally to 
bloom. Hear now 
the love - story of 
Sheila Tremayne ; 
and if the flower be 
a Little less white 
than your own imag- 
inings, a little stained of petal and calyx, be 
lenient in your appraisement, remembering 
the soil wherefrom it grew. 


things — -a 

ARCIA MEREDITH was a good wife, 
a mediocre actress, a magnificent 
business- woman, and — above all 
West-end " star/' The gaining 
of that star-dom had cost her forty-five 
years of struggle and most of her souk To 
the public she remained a ripe thirty, soulful 
and temperamental, the shimmering, passion- 
ate Marcia Meredith of " Love's Victim/' 
" Mrs. Deerson's Marriage," and other dra- 
matic entertainments too trivial for the 
chronicling ; to the sophisticated eyes of 
" the profession "she stood for the ultimate 
iungle -product— a tigress ready with tongue 
and tooth and claw to defend her theatrical 
lair against any who might seek to invade it. 
Vague hints of this tigerishness, which 

copyright. l9 „. by Giib« >tnflVtRSI TY F MICHIGAN 

Gilbert Frankau 


lurked, always ready to pounce, behind the 
dark-lashed dark-green eyes of the leading 
lady, had reached Sheila Tremayne before 
she accepted the small part of Doris Gray 
in Marcia's new production. But Sheila had 
only laughed at her informant. The part 
was a good one, well within her powers ; 
it gave her access for the first time to 
the " West-end/' Nothing else — not even 
tigresses — mat t ered . 

And yet, even at the first reading of the 
play to the company, Sheila had sensed a 
vague antagonism. Whenever the producer 
read out a line of Doris Gray's it seemed 
to Sheila, watching the actor-manageress, as 
though a frown creased Miss Meredith's 
broad, over- whitened forehead, as though 
the ugly hands twitched, the black hair 
under the over-feathered hat tossed im- 

In after years Sheila Tremayne would 
have known the thoughts behind that over- 
whitened forehead ; would have almost 
heard the thin lips mutter to themselves, " I 
oughtn't to have engaged this girl. She's too 
attractive. She'll make the part too promi- 
nent, / shall suffer." 

For Sheila Tremayne, by instinct, was 
also of the jungle ! She, also, had it in her 
to become the star. A psychologist — and 
Marcia Meredith had needed psychology in 
her fight for stardom — would have told this 
from Sheila's face, from her hands, from the 
very artificiality with which she spoke. 

A girl's face was Sheila's. Almost ideal 
for the footlights. A face essentially virgin, 
and one that would preserve its illusion of 
virginity. Stage-virginity, be it understood : 
dark-blue eyed, high foreheaded under a 
nimbus of real gold hair, straight-nosed, 
round-cheeked, small-eared. A face almost 
devoid of character, except for the full lips 
and the prominent resolute chin. It was 
that chin which first affrighted Marcia 
Meredith ; that, and the long-fingered, broad- 
palmed hands which betokened the needful 
minimum of art backed by the needful 
maximum of business drive. 

So for a full week Miss Meredith called 
Miss Tremayne " her dear child " — and 
instructed author and producer (meek men 
both, their self-determination rotted by many 
years of the footlights) to cut as many of 
Doris Gray's lines as might be possible. 
And at the end of that week, Chance (who 
plays his part behind the wings) decreed that 
Lucien Winthrop, the leading boy, should 
break an arm while mumming for the movies, 
and brought Basil Harrington in his stead. 

Everything that was best in Sheila Tre- 
mayne, all the tenderness which could just 
redeem her acting of " girl " parts from the 
mediocre, fell crazily to loving Basil Har- 
rington, from the first moment her dark-blue 

eyes visioned him shaking hands with Marcia 
Meredith. He was the ideal stage-lover, 
well over six foot, with light-brown crinkly 
hair, nice eyes, the hands and feet of a 
gentleman, and that rarity among stage-folk 
— a voice. Immediately she adored him, 
and he — in so far as modern young men are 
capable of adoration — reciprocated. That 
is to say, he was sufficiently aware of her to 
turn his head, ever so slightly, from the 
shake-hands with Marcia towards the slim 
tall girl in the russet tailor-made who had 
just repeated her line : — 

" But I love him, Mrs. Masterson, I love 
him. Won't you let him come to me ? " 


THAT line of Doris Gray's is spoken 
in the third act of Paul Derrick's 
" great romantic comedy, De- 
votion ' " ; of which comedy it is necessary 
for your understanding to give at least an 

Understand, then, that the play, having 
been written specially to the order of Marcia 
Meredith, contains only one real part — 
Mrs. Masterson. The entire comedy is a 
vehicle for the exploitation, re-exploitation, 
and super-exploitation of Mrs. Masterson's 
(Marcia Meredith's) moods, clothes, figure, 
voice, gestures, arms, eyebrows, jewellery, 
and " temperament." Around these, and 
not around any specific dramatic idea, revolve 
— as pale moonlets around a star — the minor 

But in the third and last act of *' Devo- 
tion " there occurs (doubtless by an oversight 
of the author's) one real dramatic moment. 
The scene is Mrs. Masterson's boudoir. She, 
by a super-effort of clothes, voice, gestures, 
eyebrows, and temperament, has succeeded 
in luring Cyprian Olphert (Basil Har- 
rington) from his fiancte, Doris Gray. Doris 
Gray, therefore — who, by a stage coincidence, 
is staying with her rival — arraying herself in 
her most becoming garment, follows Cyprian 
to the boudoi r , pleads with Mrs. Masterson, 
and finally triumphs over the entanglement. 
Thereafter, Mrs. Masterson makes things 
up with her own legitimate husband ; and 
the curtain falls and is raised many times to 
display Marcia Meredith bowing her thanks 
to a delighted audience. 

By the twelfth day of rehearsals, when the 
last act had begun to shape itself, it became 
apparent to Marcia Meredith — as it is doubt- 
less apparent to the reader — that a really 
fine performance of Doris Gray by Sheila 
Tremayne might conceivably involve a 
considerable amount of publicity, to say 
nothing of insistent curtain-calls, for that 
young actress. By the fourteenth day, .when 
it became necessary to consider the dresses 
for the minox characters (Marcia's clothes, 



The Moth and the Star 

needless to say, had been designed weeks 
since by Monsieur L6pine of Paris, London, 
and New York), the leading lady's cooed 
" My dear child " had been replaced by 
" Miss Tremayne," a '" Miss Tremayne " so 
perfectly polite as to be absolutely tigrine. 


" A ND how is the frock for the last act, 

J^^ Miss Tremayne ? " asked Basil 

" Oh, not bad," smiled the girl. 

They were lunching together, not for the 
first time, at Gustave's in So ho — a dark little, 
intimate little restaurant of cheap prices and 
flamboyant omelettes, not two hundred yards 
away from the theatre. 

** Really nice ? " went on the boy in his 
thrilling voice. " Or only so-so ? " 

" You'll see at the dress -rehearsal," 

" Can't you describe it to me ? " He 
leaned forward artlessly, and his brown 
eyes darted admiration at Sheila. 

•' It's black silk," she admitted. *' Quite 
simple, of course. They can't afford to 
spend any money on my clothes." 

' Black ! " His intuition caught at the 
disappointment she was trying to hide from 
him. ' But surely that isn't right for the 
character ? Miss Meredith might wear black. 
You ought to be in something girlish. Pale 
pink ? Pale blue ? And besides " — he hesi- 
tated, aware of disloyalty to his employer— 
• isn't Doris Gray supposed to be a million- 
aire's daughter ? " 

" She is," snapped Sheila, - * but she'll look 
like — like a charity orphan." 

" But why " began Basil ; and in that 

moment Sheila knew. 

She had not known before, only surmised 
— vaguely through long lonely evenings in 
her tiny flat — the influence at work against 
her. Young to the iungle of stageland, it 
had needed the mating fervour to sharpen 
her instincts of self-protection. But now 
both mating fervour and defensive instinct 
were fully aroused. 

** Does it matter ? " she said. 

• i" think it matters frightfully," retorted 
the boy, " not only to the play, but to you. 
You see, the public nowadays are funny. 
They insist on our being well-dressed. 
You've no idea what my tailor's bill is." 

" Men have such an advantage, paying for 
their own clothes." ,.. 

" I can't see that — we don't get any 
bigger salaries for dressing ourselves." 

" But you can wear more or less what you 
like," said Sheila. 

Somehow or other — every successful artist 
knows that there is such a moment — realiza- 
tion of her dual personality was being born 
in the girl. Self-knowledge added itself to 
the knowledge of Marcia Meredith. She 

grew furiously conscious of two Sheilas : the 
one tender and girlish, who could play Doris 
Gray to the life, who could surrender herself, 
would surrender herself, without question to 
the adorable boy with the crinkly hair and the 
clean-shaven lips ; the other a hard-headed, 
hard-hearted, unwomanly little person who 
meant to do battle with tooth and claw for 

Curiously enough, even the hard-hearted, 
hard-headed Sheila loved Basil Harrington. 
" He," she said to herself, " doesn't realize 
that we are in the jungle. He's too nice. I 
must fight for us both." 

" Time we were getting back to rehearsal," 
suggested the boy, paying his bill. She 
powdered her nose, pulled down her veil, and 
followed him into the sunshine. 

All the two hundred yards down Shaftes- 
bury Avenue Sheila's new instinct was at 
work. She said to herself, " It's in my own 
hands. It's always in our hands once we're 
'on.' The producer can't interfere with me. 
Miss Meredith can't interfere. Once the 
curtain goes up on the first night, the issue 
rests between me and the public. Do the 
public really care for clothes as much as 
Basil thinks ? " 

Entering the stage-door, looking in the 
glass cage to see if there were any letters for 
either of them, scurrying along the white- 
washed passage, down the stone steps on to the 
half-lit stage, Sheila's instinct still functioned. 
Instinct urged, " This is enemy territory. 
Tread softly. Speak softly. Veil your 
voice. Veil the purpose in your eyes. Pre- 
tend ! Pretend ! Pretend ! " 

" Beginners for Act Three ! " called the 
stage-manager, and the " beginners," Mrs. 
Masterson's husband and Mrs. Masterson's 
maid, took up their positions ; started in to 
stumble through their lines. 

Sheila found herself a packing-case in the 
wings, sat down, and began to study her part. 
But her mind was not on the typewritten 
words ; her mind was hovering about the 
auditorium, empty save for Mr. Peaston, the 
producer, and the cleaners, sweeping carpets 
against the evening performance. In ten 
days — thought. Sheila — those stalls, those 
boxes, that pit, gallery, and dress-circle will 
be full of eyes. And every eye will see Doris 
Gray looking like a charity orphan. 

She forced herself to study. " But I love 
him, Mrs. Masterson. Won't you let him 
come to me ? " And quite suddenly Sheila 
Tremayne wished that the stage issue between 
herself and Marcia Meredith had been the 
real issue. " That," she thought, " would be 
a fight worth fighting." (For this is yet 
another curse of the acting art, that anyone 
with a due sense of values — and that sense, 
too, was being born in Sheila — must realize 
its utter futility^ n 


Gilbert Frankau 


" He leaned forwiwii art- 
essly, and his brown eyes 
darted admiration at Sheila/* 

A shadow blurred the typescript ; and, 
lifting her head, she saw her antagonist. 

" Hard at work, Miss Tremayne ? ,J purred 
Marcia Meredith, regal if a trifle middle-aged 
in os preys and sables 

"I'm afraid Tin a terribly slow ' study/ " 
prevaricated Sheila, 

" Then Tve good news for you/' went on 
the elder woman. M You know that last 
speech of yours, the one that begins ' But I 
love him/ Well, Mr + Peas ton and myself 
have been talking it over, and we both think 
it too long, It holds up the action, Don't 
you think so ? " 

A protest rose to Sheila's lips, was forced 
down. The speech in question was the 
climax of her part. To cut it would make 
Doris Gray a colourless nonentity, 

" The author agrees with us, So, if you 
don't mind" ('* as if she'd dare mind/' 
thought Marcia), " we're going to take out a 
few lines of it. If you 11 give me your part, 
I'll show you just where the cuts come." 

The actor-manageress took the typescript 
Sheila proffered ; took a gold pencil from 
her gold bag, and carefully excised all but 
the first two and last three lines of the speech, 
" My cue," she said, " is not altered/' 
** No, of course not/' murmured the girl, 
and then, remembering her new self, she 
smiled, " I think it's a great improvement, 
Miss Meredith." 

' I'm glad you don't mind," said a dis- 
armed Marcia. " Some people are so silly 
about cuts, As if anything or any of us 
matter except the play/' 

She stood chatting amicably for a moment. 
She could afford to be amicable now. Sheila 
Tremayne, in Doris Gray's black silk 
frock, speaking Doris Gray's attenuated 
lines, could hardly cast the shadow of an 
eclipse on the stardom of Mrs. Masterson. 

11 Oh, and I do hope you didn't think the 
dress we chose for the last act too simple, 
Miss Tremayne," said the actor-manageress, 

" I think it simply adorable, Miss Mere- 
dith," cooed the girl who was learning her 
jungle laws. 

A moment later, with a rustle of charmeuse 
and a jingle of golden accoutrements, Marcia 
tripped away towards the " prompt " side 
— there, with Basil Harrington, to await her 
cue. But all that dreary rehearsal after- 
noon, and all the -dreary rehearsal afternoons 
which followed, Sheila Tremayne — the tender, 
girlish Sheila — cried those bitter tears which 
never rise to the eye ; and all that dreary 
home evening, and all the dreary home 
evenings which followed , Sheila Tremayne, 
the hard-hearted, hard-headed Sheila, worked 
on the full speech as it was before it had 
been cut to colourlessness, and totted up 
her tiny balance in the Post Office Savings 



The Moth and the Star 


[ONSIEUR, there is a young lady to 
see you." 

" What young lady ? " Mon- 
sieur L6pine, of Paris, London, and New York, 
lifted a brilliantly brilliantined head and 
Stared, black-eyed, across the ormolu desk of 
his lavishly-furnished private office at the pert 
secretary who had interrupted his sartorial 

" A voung lady from the Piccadilly 

11 Her name ? " 

" Miss Tremayne. Miss Sheila Tremayne." 

" I do not know a Miss Tremayne of the 
Piccadilly Theatre. Of the Piccadilly Thea- 
tre, I only know Miss Meredith. And of her 
I know too much. If the Tremayne want to 
buy any clothes, let Miss Jameson attend to 

The secretary hesitated. 

" The young lady won't see anyone but 
yourself, Monsieur. She says it is about a 
frock for to-morrow's performance of * De- 
votion.' " 

" ' Devotion ! ' * Devotion ! ' I am tired 
of ' Devotion.' I am tired of stage people." 
The dressmaker twirled a black moustache. 
" The Meredith woman has bothered me 
enough already." 

Nevertheless, after further protest, he 
consented to leave his office, and strode into 
the showrooms below. 

There is nothing shoppy about Lupine's 
London showrooms. The effect, artfully 
contrived to discourage the economically 
minded, is midway between that of a drawing- 
room and a picture gallery ; wall-colour a 
pale yellow; chairs upholstefed in orange 
brocade ; ceiling black ; floor parquet ; 
mannequins' stage — which occupies the en- 
tire south wall — velvet-curtained and mys- 
terious as a palmist's cave. 

Sheila, rising nervously from one of the 
brocaded chairs, was aware of a tallish 
foreigner in black cut-away coat, flower at 
buttonhole, whose eyes seemed to cheapen 
the inexpensive tailor-made, the inexpensive 
hat she wore by at least five guineas. 

" Mademoiselle Tremayne ? " he queried. 

" Of the Piccadilly Theatre," smiled Sheila. 
" I want your help, Monsieur L6pine. I want 
your advice." 

" Tiens f " retorted the Frenchman. '• So 
you want my advice. That is more than 
most English actresses want. They are fools, 
your English actresses. . They think they 
know everything. In Paris it is different. 
There, they realize that I, too, am an artist." 
He altered his tone. " You want some 
frocks, eh ? " 

" I only want one frock," stammered 
Sheila. " And I — I don't know whether I 
can afford it." j ljzf 

" For the stage ? " 

" Yes, for to-morrow night. It " — the girl's 
voice dropped — "it's rather a secret, Mon- 
sieur Lupine." 

"A secret!" The man's eyes twinkled. 
" I do not make secret frocks." He swished 
away the secretary, who had been listening 
intently, and went on ; " What part do you 
take in the play, Mademoiselle ? The young 
lady, eh ? I thought so. I remember you, 
once, at rehearsal, when I came to see Miss 
Meredith. Why did the management not 
send you to me at once ? Now, we must 
find a model. There is no time to make. 
And models are not cheap, these days." 

Sheila's dark-blue eyes veiled themselves 
under long lashes. " Supposing the manage- 
ment knew nothing about my coming to you. 
Monsieur, would that make a difference"? " 

Said the Frenchman, after a perceptible 
pause : " Mademoiselle, I, too, am an artist. 
You spoke of a secret. To me it is no secret. 
Let me tell you. Miss Meredith is jealous of 
you ; therefore she send you to a cheap 
dressmaker. Is it not so ? " 

" Well " began the girl. 

" Do not interrupt. I have not been in 
this business twenty years for nothing. I 
know these — how do you call them ? — stars. 
One day, you also will be a star. Then you 
will do precisely as Miss Meredith." He 
altered his tone. " This dress — you pay foi 
it yourself ? " 

" If I can," said Sheila, a little taken 
aback by the rapidity of the Frenchman's 

" And Miss Meredith, when she find out, 
what happen to you ? What happen to me, 
L6pine ? I tell you — you get the sack — and 
I — I make no more clothes for Miss Meredith." 

" But she needn't know you made the 
dress. I would promise not to tell a soul." 

" Foolishness." The dressmaker's hands 
plunged to .trouser pockets. " Foolishness. 
A Lupine dress is a Lupine dress. All the 
world recognizes it at sight. I do not need 
to plaster my name on programmes." 

" Then you refuse ? " 

*' I have not said so. This dress, for which 
act is it ? The last ? Miss Meredith wears 
purple in the last act. And you ? " 

"I'm supposed to wear black." Sheila's 
heart was beating furiously. She felt, some- 
how, that her whole career hung on the next 

" And you do not want to wear black. 
No ? Then you are a little fool. All 
English actresses are fools. What do you 
want to wear ? Pink ? Blue ? Foolish- 
ness. Wait. I, L6pine, show you the black 
you should wear." He called across the 
room. " Clotilde, Clotilde, faites montrer la 
robe noire qite ,$PM s f, avons fait pour " — he 
hesitated — "' pour la petite Henriette." 


Gilbert Frankau 


Monsieur Lepine was bawling at her. ' Those hands 1 Do not clench them, 
fingers lie loose* So. That is better, Take her now, Jacques ! * 

Let the 

Some twenty minutes later, Sheila Tre- 
mayne — not the hard-hearted, hard -headed 
Sheila who had bearded the great dressmaker 
at half -past ten of an autumn morning, but 
a tender, girlish creature frightened almost 
out of her wits at the risk she ran — faced the 
lens of a camera in Monsieur Lupine's private 

studio. Monsieur Lepine was bawling at 
her, 4i Name of a name ! J ' he bawled. 
" Those hands ! Do not clench them. Let 
the fingers lie loose. So. That is better. 
And the lips I Half open. So. Yes, Take 
her now, Jacques t " 
The shutter clicked, clicked again. 



The Moth and the Star 

" And that will be enough," said Monsieur 
L6pine. He handed Sheila down from the 
black velvet steps on which she had been 
posing, and said : — 

" Now remember. Not a word. You 
take it off. We put it in a box. It goes 
home with you. The shoes and the stockings 
you fetch this evening." 

" But the price, Monsieur ? The price ? " 
stammered Sheila. 

The dressmaker bowed. " When you 
wear it, Mademoiselle, the frock is priceless. 
And remember, for two years we have the 
exclusivity of your photograph. Also, when 
you are a star," he smiled, looking at his 
handiwork, " but, indeed, you are a star 
already — it is I, L6pine, who will dress your 

And he added, to himself : " Perhaps, also, 
I teach the Meredith woman that it does not 
pay to bother the great Lepine." 


TO the audience, a West-end " first 
night," especially a Marcia Meredith 
first night, is little more than a Society 
function. The audience knows their Marcia, 
knows the type of play she is sure to have 
selected. The audience is prepared to 
applaud, more or less vociferously, for three 
hours — and read about itself in the papers 
next morning. 

But behind the scenes all first nights are 
electric with tension. From the author, 
pallid in the wings, to the least important 
stage-hand runs a current of nervous antici- 
pation — of sheer longing for the moment 
when the final curtain-call shall signal 
" Success." 

Sheila Tremayne, darting — second act 
over — to the dressing-room she shared with 
Mrs. Masterson's maid, was hardly con- 
scious of Basil Harrington's — 

" Going well, Miss Tremayne. And you're 
simply splendid." She knew only that now, 
now, NOW, wis the moment. For this 
moment she had borne with Marcia Meredith 
through four long weeks ; for this moment 
she had faced L6pine ; for this, through an 
interminable dress rehearsal, she had suffered 
Mr. Peaston, the producer, suffered the agony 
of that " simple black frock," of that cut and 
colourless speech. 

She said to herself, as she closed the 
dressing-room door and began to unfasten the 
" simple " day-dress she had been wearing : 
" She'll have to^wait — she'll have to wait for 
her cue. I mustn't fluff — or she'll chip in. 
I must be calm I must be calm." 

The tiny dressing-room spun round her. 
Round and round. She was aware, dimly, 
of Mrs. Masterson's maid, of the dresser 
tying the black apron round Mrs. Master- 
son's maid's black silk dress. And she 

thought, " Black silk I The maid wears 
black silk. I, too, was to wear black silk. 
So that was Marcia Meredith's idea. The 
maid and the millionaire's daughter. Both 
colourless. Both nonentities." 

" And that finishes you, Miss Arkwright," 
interrupted the dresser's voice. " Now for 
Miss Tremayne." 

" I think I'll be off, dear," said Miss Ark- 
wright. " The curtain'll be up in five 
minutes." She nodded excitedly, went out. 

By now Sheila was ready for her stockings. 

" Bought these yourself, I expect," said 
the dresser, admiringly. " Must have cost a 
pretty penny. Pity the dress doesn't come 
up to them." 

Sheila's whitened right hand felt in her 
corsage, and came away clutching a piece of 

" I'm not going to wear that dress, Mrs. 
Fell. There's a box under my table. You 
might get it out." Her right hand passed 
the paper. " And this is for you." 

Mrs. Fell took the paper, uncrinkled it — 
and laughed. " Bradburys is scarce these 
days," said Mrs. Fell. " Funny their chang- 
ing your dress at the last moment ; and me 
knowing nothing about it." 

" Nobody knows," murmured Sheila. 

The fat, red-faced woman looked up from 
her dragging out of the box. 

" Nobody ? Bless my soul ! " 

" Nobody — except you. And you're to 
keep quiet till I'm on. Do you understand ?" 

Mrs. Fell cut the string of the box, and 
laughed again. " 'Tain't none of my busi- 
ness," said Mrs. Fell, " but the theatre's the 
theatre. There's rules, and there's regula- 
tions. There's contracts." She fumbled 
with the tissue-paper. " I shouldn't do 
anything to upset folk if I was you, my dear. 
Not that I won't keep quiet if you wants me 
to." Then, with a little staccato cry, " Lor', 
what's this ? " 

" Oh, that " — to Sheila her own voice 
sounded like a stranger's — " that's only a 
black wrap — to wear in the wings. The 
dress is underneath." 

A shrill howl sounded down the corridor — 
the call-boy's howl. 

" Curtain's up. You've got ten minutes 
yet," said Mrs. Fell. 


SHEILA'S brain still spun as she waited, 
in the wings, for her cue. She tried to 
hear the words being spoken on the stage, 
but her ears dithered, refused to carry sound. 
She tried to think of her own words — but the 
words wouldn't come. Almost it. seemed 
to her as though the cue itself would fail her 
memory. " And as for Miss Doris Gray — 
as for Miss Doris Gray " — that above all 
things she must not miss. Would she hear 


Gilbert Frankau 


it ? She did not even dare peep sideways 
through the wings on to the stage. 

And then, quite suddenly, her brain ceased 
spinning ; froze to chill unemotional intellect. 
This was her one chance of success — and of 
Basil. She must not, dared not, could not 

" Cold, Miss Tremayne ? " -whispered a 
voice, Miss Arkwright's. 

" No." Sheila drew the black wrap which 
had provoked the whisper closer about her 
figure. Miss Arkwright tip-toed away. 

Now the girl in the black wrap could hear, 
quite distinctly, every word of the scene on 
the stage. In three minutes, less than three 
minutes, she would have to discard the wrap 
to make her entrance. And Basil, Basil would 
be " off." She would be alone with the 
audience, that audience all eyes and shirt- 
fronts, with the audience and Marcia. 

She peeped through the wings, saw Basil, 
heard his voice. He was making love, 
stage-love, to Mrs. Masterson. Beyond his 
bent head, she guessed the audience. The 
audience were silent ; all eyes ; tier upon 
tier of eyes. 

" Cyprian ! " — Marcia's voice — " dear, 
dear boy." 

" Marcia, don't. It isn't fair. It isn't 
fair to Doris." 

The fatuous words stung Sheila to quick 
rage. " That old woman," she thought, 
" that old woman and my Basil." 

Then Sheila Tremayne disappeared from 
Sheila Tremayne 's mind — and " Doris Gray " 
took her place. Doris Gray tip- toed, still 
shrouded, to the door through which she must 
make her entrance ; Doris Gray listened — 
real for the moment — to her rival, Mrs. 
Masterson. Doris Gray flung aside the wrap 
that hid Lupine's masterpiece ; heard the 
gasp of a staggered stage-manager behind 
her, heard the opposite door click to Basil's 
exit, heard her cue, and trod from gloom to 
glare without a tremor. 

She stood in a blaze of light. She had 
forgotten the audience, forgotten the scenery, 
forgotten Sheila Tremayne. She was Doris 
Gray — facing Mrs. Masterson. And Mrs. 
Masterson loathed her. That she could see 
in Mrs. Masterson's dark green eyes. In 
those eyes, too, she could see herself — the 
millionaire's daughter, a tiny shimmering 
vision of black and silver, gold hair high on 
white nape. 

But Marcia Meredith — who was always 
Marcia Meredith and never the character she 
played — saw more than a tiny vision. Into 
her mind — even as she mouthed her part — 
came one clear thought. " L6pine ! Qnly 
L6pine could have designed that black velvet, 
slashed it to show the silver underskirt." 
And the audience — Marcia never forgot the 
presence of her audience — the audience was 


" eating " both the girl and the frock. 
Marcia could see, out of the tail of her mental 
eye, women's glasses focused, women's 
mouths wide in wonder. 

Rage took her by the breasts. How dared 
this girl, this Tremayne girl, play such a 
trick ! To-morrow — no, not to-morrow, to- 
night — she should leave the theatre, leave it 
for good. Yet the scene must be played out 
to the end. Thank goodness, she had had 
the foresight to cut that last speech — would 
they never come to that last speech ? Must 
she, Marcia Meredith, stand there for ever, 
mouthing her foolish lines, knowing herself 
outwitted, outshone before her own first- 
night public, in her own theatre ? 

And now Doris Gray, too, grew conscious 
of her audience — as of a great friendly dog, 
faithful-eyed and adoring — a great dog that 
would leap to protect her against all enmity. 
She knew she could whistle that dog at will ; 
could feel it thrilling at her voice, at her every 

And so those two — painted women between 
painted walls — played out their comedy. 

" But I love him, Mrs. Masterson, I love 
him." Marcia knew, even from the first 
inflexion of the girl's voice, that the speech 
would be spoken to its finale ; and Sheila, 
watching those green eyes, knew victory. 
How those green eyes, those thin lips, could 
hate ! And yet, and yet the thin lips were 
powerless. They dared not speak. She — 
Sheila Tremayne who was Doris Gray — she, 
Doris Gray who was Sheila Tremayne — held 
that great dog in leash. If those thin lips 
dared but interrupt, the dog would growl. 

" And you won't, you won't keep him away 
from me any longer, Mrs. Masterson ? You 
wouldn't do anything, anything beastly ? " 

Now — she thought — now, open those thin 
lips ! The game's played out between us. 

And the thin painted lips opened. " Miss 
Gray, you have taught me a great lesson to- 
night. Have no fear. Cyprian is yours — 
and yours alone. Go to him." 


SHE had made her exit. Behind her, as 
the " built-in " door clicked, she had 
heard for the first time that rattle of 
handclaps which signifies an audience carried 
away. The rattle still sounded in her ears ; 
her heart still beat to the triumph of it. And 
abruptly came reaction, silence in her ears, a 
coldness at the heart of her. She knew only 
that now, now — so soon as the curtain fell — 
she must pay for the thing she had done. 

Marcia Meredith, that Marcia whose voice 
carried shrill through the painted canvas, 
would never forgive. She, Sheila Tremayne, 
had broken the unwritten customs of the 
theatre ; next night, and all the nights to 
follow, the theatre would cast her out. 



The Moth and the Star 

" Marcia, with a stage-smile on her thin painted lips — Marcia, astutest of business 

and kissed her befoie 

Standing there, in the semi -gloom of the 
wings, Lupine's masterpiece draping her in 
shimmers of black and silver, she knew her- 
self disgraced. They were all there, the 
whole company, twelve of them, waiting for 
the final curtain-call. But none of them 
dared speak to her, to Sheila Tremayne, 
Not even Basil ! Basil was whispering to 
Miss Arkwright, Basil was afraid, She 
could see the fear in Basil's paint-reddened 
eyes : she could not see that his fear was all 
for her. Supposing that her very temerity 
had lost Basil for ever . 

" Curtain ! " said a voice, " First call." 
And almost before she realized it, Sheila was 
on stage again. They were all on stage, 
in the full glare of the footlights. In 

front of tnem, over banked flowers, the house 
rocked and rang. They could see the 
applauding hands. 

Three times the curtain had risen and 
fallen — four times— five times. Now Marcia 
Meredith and her flowers must have the stage 
to themselves. Sheila, rushing off, found 
Basil next to her, His hand caught her arm. 
■' You did it/' he stammered, " you saved 
the plav. That isn't her call. Hark at 
them I " 

" It doesn't matter," said Sheila. " No- 
thing matters. Let me get away. I want 
to get away, I don't want her to see me in 
this frock." 

Another hand caught her arm — Mr, Pea- 
ston's. Mr. Peas ton was screaming in her 


Gilbert Frankau 


women— ultimately handed 
the whole house." 

stage, Hung 

whitened arms* 

left ear : ** Miss Tremayne ! Miss Tremayne ! 
For God's sake go on ! Can't you hear 
them ? Jl 

" Hear what ? tJ said Sheila ; but even as 
she asked, she heard them, the audience, her 
audience. And the audience was chanting, 
with monotonous reiteration :— 

* l Doris Gray I Doris Gray I We want 
Doris Gray ! We want to see Doris Gray I *' 

Ml 1 daren't/' stammered Sheila, " I 
daren't. Miss Meredith ! " 

But it was Marcia Meredith herself — 
Marcia, clutching a great bouquet of the 
management's flow r ers — Marcia, with a stage- 
smile on her thin painted lips —Marcia, 
as tu test of business women — who ultimately 
handed her rival on stage, flung out two 

Vol. l*ii P -15< 

whitened arms, and kissed her before the 
whole house. 

For this is the one consolation ot all 
artistic endeavour for financial success : that 
the public, the great honest, child -hearted 
public, is the final judge thereof, the judge 
whose verdict not even the most powerful 
dares gainsay. 

Which is the only reason why Marcia 
Meredith has offered her house in Park Lane 
for the forthcoming marriage of *" Miss Sheila 
Tremayne, whose performance of Doris Cray 
in h Devotion ' has revealed a new delight 
for London playgoers, and that rising young 
actor Mr Basil Harrington, (Photographs 
of Miss Tremayne, by the Lupine Studio, on 
back page.) f P i n a I f no m 




TT was a saying of Sir 
1 John Wotton's that the 
M only man who could 
touch pitch and remain 
unde filed was the 
passenger by sea* 
By touching pitch, 
he seemed to mean 
nothing much more 
desperate than risk- 
ing the soilure of 
one 's social fin gers 
by talking to people 
without a previous introduc- 
tion ; and he commonly went 
on to relate how he made 
each of his frequent journeys 
to the United States a small 
adventure, confined within 
water -tight bulkheads from 
slopping over into the decorous channels 
of his everyday life. For instance, he was 
wont to avoid the glaring ships which 
carry the actresses and the bishops and 
the special correspondents, and patronize 
the slower, sedate r boats which transport 
only cattle and connoisseurs in travel. 

" Most amazin' fellers you meet, some- 
times/' he would assure his hearers. " In- 
teresting too ! Don't believe in too much 
exclusiveness myself, 'specially <mg voyage. 
An' the best of it is, you don't have to worry 
about droppin ,J em; they're dropped auto- 
matically when you land on the other side. 
Except in' — well, sometimes I JP 

That " sometimes * J had its origin upon 
the morning when the Minnehaha was slicing 
her way across the tail of a half -gale within 
twenty-four hours of New York. Sir John 
Wotton, with the collar of his overcoat 
turned high and his tweed cap jammed low, 
paused in the lee door of the smoking-room 
to light his after- breakfast cigar. His hand- 
some, elderly face* with its grey moustache 
trim and decorative as a stage ambassador's, 
was pleasant and eupeptic ; he looked what 
he was, a busy, wealthy man for whom life 





and its affairs were savoury. 
A kind of humane world liness 
was in his demeanour; there 
was not even the conventional 
contempt of the 
H good sailor" for 
the bad one as, 
drawing strongly 
upon his cigar to 
get it under way, 
he glanced round 
upon the three or 
four limp folk who 
drooped in the swivel chairs. 
He knew them all — the black- 
bearded Mormon missionary, 
the small college professor, the 
man who had invented a new 
typewriter, and so forth. He 
had enjoyed them in his own 
fashion ; and in twenty- four hours they would 
be for him like the contents of a newspaper 
(.■lie has read and thrown away- With his 
cigar in order, he stepped out on deck. 

The big boat was heading up to a strong 
and racing sea, blue-grey and abrupt, 
patterned with flying white-caps ; as he 
glanced across the rail, it seemed to boil 
past the ship's high side like a mill-stream. 
From the other side of the deck he heard the 
dash and spatter of wind-borne spray driving 
aboard like hail ; and as her bow plunged 
he saw the white of churned water rise about 
it in a snowy cloud. He lifted the cigar from 
his lips and breathed with reJish of the cold 
salt air. 

There was but one other figure in sight 
upon the length of the promenade deck. 
Sir John recognized it, and, balancing ex* 
pertly against the roll of the ship, moved 
forward to where it stood > beneath the spread 
of the bridge. It did not turn as he ap- 
proached, but stood, one hand upon the for- 
ward rail, gazing out over the water. Sir 
John, debonair and hearty, placed himself 

"Fine, frStigiwaMteg^rwhat ? " he said, 


Perceval Gibbon 


agreeably. iJ Wind's as good as a drink of 
champagne, eh ? ,J 

The other turned as Sir John began to 
speak with a small motion that might have 
been a start or an involuntary shrug . He 
was a tallish young man, with a comely, 
unremarkable face and a little smear of black 
moustache upon the upper lip t He might 
have been twenty-six or twenty-seven years 
of age ; he was strongly bronzed ; and the 
face he turned to Sir John's easy geniality 
had no trace of an answering smile. For 
the rest, he was dressed in the fashion of 
Sir John himself, well and inconspicuously, 
a figure merely conventional, decent, and 

*' Good morning," he made answer now, 
and looked away again to the boisterous 

BUT it he intended a rebuff, he rebuffed 
in vain. As well threaten a duck with 
rain as fight Sir John with hints when 
he was in his pitch-touching mood. Several 
times since leaving Tilbury he had at- 
tempted conversation with this young man 
and been eluded, and there remained to him 
only twenty-four hours. He suspected that 
in this silent youth there was concealed a 
story that could be re -told afterwards, and 
if the conversational corkscrew could extract 
it, he meant to have it out of him. 

'Fine* fresh morning — what?* he said, agreeably. * Wind's as good as a drink of 



Touching Pitch 

" We'll be in by this time to-morrow," 
said Sir John. " Always glad to see good 
old New York again. It's forgotten more 
than London ever knew about some things ; 
but what I always say is — pity it's forgotten 
'em so completely — what ? " 

He laughed ; he had a pleasant, infectious 
laugh, but it did not infect the other. " No 
doubt," he replied. 

" Got friends there ? " persisted Sir John. 

The young man removed his eyes from the 
distance and looked at his questioner. " I 
don't know," he answered distinctly. 

" Really ? Not a New Yorker, then ? 
D'you know," confided Sir John, " I've an 
idea I've seen you before somewhere. You 
remind me of somebody ; dashed if I can 

think who it is. Let me see, Mr. er " 

— the other made no sound to help him — " I 
don't think I know your name ? " he con- 
cluded on a note of inquiry. 

The other gave him back his look, the 
bleakness of the cheerless young face fronting 
the silken smoothness and suppleness of the 
elder one. A flash of reluctant humour 
slackened the tight lips under the smudge of 
moustache for the fraction of a moment. 

" I'm dead certain you don't," he retorted. 

There was not much left for Sir John to do 
after that save cover his retreat. He smiled 
complaisantly, spoke again of the freshness 
and invigoration of the wind, and then an 
inward-curling drive of spray came to his 

" You'll get soaked if you stick there," he 
warned. "I'm for shelter. See you later, eh ? " 

" Sure," said the other, with his first ap- 
proach to cordiality; and Sir John moved aft. 

He went with no disturbance of his 
customary demeanour ; his smiling good- 
nature was his armour and his weapon ; and 
the calm that cut-throat rivals in the cotton- 
milling trade had never failed to disturb was 
proof against any quantity of mere pitch. 
He stopped and spoke pleasantly to a wan 
woman and a fat child of five or six who 
sheltered in the drawing-room doorway. 

" Why, what's this ? " he cried, bluffly, 
bending to stroke the little boy's round 
cheek. " Hiding from the wind — a stout 
feller like you ! It's wind like this that blows 
everybody good, don't ye know ! And don't 
you want to look over the rail an' see the sea 
go tearing past like a great big waterfall ? 
Call yourself a sailor- boy ? " 

The child smiled up at him shyly. Sir 
John was admirable with children ; he had 
himself an expensive son in the Guards and 
another at Eton. But then, of course, he 
was admirable with everybody. 

" Waterfa' ! " repeated the child. 

" Rather ! " said Sir John. " Like a big, 
wet, roaring, rushing waterfall. You get 
your mother to bring you out an' show you." 

The wan woman held on to the iamb of 
the door and smiled faintly. She was the 
wife of the little professor who, not having 
the child to look after, was lying groaning in 
the smoke-room. Sir John nodded to her 
encouragingly and passed on, leaving behind 
him the fat child's tyrannical whine : " Wan* 
to see a waterfa' ! Wan' to see a waterfa ' ! " 

He strode aft and paused to pass the time 
of day with the big jersey-clad quartermaster 
of the deck, who was stowing away a pile of 
folded deck-chairs. 

4 * Ha ! G'mornin', said Sir John, cheerily. 
" G'mornin" quartermaster. Nice little 
sample o' weather you're givin' us to finish 
up with — what ? " 

The big sailor stood upright, touched his 
cap, and smiled. " Won't do you no harm, 
sir — a little puff o' wind like this," he said, 
flatteringly. " But there's plenty o' gentle- 
men — used to the sea, too — as 'ud find it too 
much. I looked in the smoke-room door 
jus' now an' there was " 

He was big and brown-bearded, costumed 
and schooled to fill his part of a good- 
humoured, respectful sea-dog. It was his 
business to be likeable and to be liked ; and 
he knew his business thorouglily. Sir John, 
in his man-to-man pose before him, was, 
therefore, all the more abominably startled 
when the friendly deference in the face that 
fronted him went out like a light abruptly 
switched off ; a blue-clad arm took him 
across the chSst and brushed him aside so 
that he reeled against the rail ; and the 
quartermaster sprang past him with a fog- 
horn roar. 

" IV /I^"^ overboard ! " he shouted to the 

1 VI bridge. " Man " then altering it 

and shouting on a new note — " Kid 
overboard ! " 

And the ship that had moved through the 
seas like a thing intent only on movement, 
as a somnambulist walker in sleep, was 
suddenly awake at each nerve centre. Already 
Sir John, recovering his shocked faculties, 
had followed the direction of the quarter- 
master's eyes. Opposite the drawing-room 
door, the form of the wan mother lay, half 
against the rail, half in the scupper ; she 
seemed to be making weak convulsive efforts 
to drag herself upright. All was plain as a 
spoken narrative : the child had had his 
way ; he had been lifted to look over the 
rail at Sir John Wotton's " waterfall " ; an 
access of sickness on the mother's part and 
his own eagerness had done the rest. Two 
officers came racing aft ; the empty decks 
filled ; the quartermaster at the rail untoggled 
a life-buoy and sent it spinning over. Bells 
were loud below ; orders rained along the 
deck ; and in the midst of it all came the one 
fitting and perfect culmination of the drama. 


Perceval Gibbon 


OF the dozen or so who beheld it in the 
enacting, Sir John was one. While 
most eyes were aft, straining for a 
sight of the lost child, he was gazing 
forward over the crowd that thronged the 
deck, greedy of interest, savouring the 
flavour of the pitch. And while yet 
the roused passengers were streaming 
forth he saw his taciturn companion of a 
few minutes ago, overcoatless now and in 
shirt-sleeves, make a bound like a long, easy 
stride to the top of the rail, poise there for 
an instant, and go flying outboard in a long 
feet-first jump to the uneasy waters along- 

A bellow from the bridge — another shout 
from the quartermaster, more shouts from 
aft ! Sir John, gripping the rail and staring, 
saw a black head come to the surface on the 
top of a swell, a swift white arm flash out in a 
motion of strong swimming ; then both slid 
down to a trough and vanished. There was 
the jar of propellers reversed ; the ship 
seemed to his landsman's eyes to be moving 
sideways ; and a boat, manned by life-belted 
men, slid waterwards on squealing tackles. 
There w&s a babble of excited voices fore and 
aft till a megaphone from the bridge stilled 
it sharply. 

Then, from high above them, like a voice 
from the sky, came the call of the man who 
had raced to the masthead to keep the child 
in view. " Port ! " he called. An officer at 
the taffrail signalled the direction to the 
climbing and tumbling boat. Then, with a 
note of screaming exultation : " He's — he's 
got the kid ! " 

The passengers broke into a straggling 
cheer which the megaphone forthwith crushed 
to silence. Sir John turned to one who 
jostled him in his place by the rail and beheld 
a white-jacketed steward ; he bent upon him 
the full power of his urbanity. 

" Excitin', this— what ? " he uttered. " By 
the way, who is the young feller who jumped 
after the child ? I was talkm* to him only 
just now, but I didn't catch his name." 

" Eh ? " The steward withdrew his eyes 
unwillingly from the distant glimpse of the 
boat. Then he took in the general effect of 
Sir John and was at once supple and in- 

" Him, sir ? He's the gent in Number 
sixty, sir ; Skinner 'is name is. Young 
American gent, sir. Yes, sir — C. Skinner's 
'is name." 

" Ha ! " said Sir John. " Thought he was 
a Yank. Well, he's done a dashed plucky 
thing, anyhow. We must give him a cheer 
when he gets on board ! " 

Nothing petty or insular about Sir John, 
you see ; and since it was plain that some- 
body must lead that cheer, must prompt it 
and in some sort make it his own t he moved 

by LiOOgle 

to and fro incubating the matter among the 

He was at the after- break of the promenade 
deck when at last the boat came plunging 
down wind, round - the ship's stern, and 
caught a line under her lee. Stewardesses 
received the child and bore it off to the 
hospital where its mother already lay ; the 
young man who had rebuffed Sir John came 
slowly over the rail unaided. He paused to 
lay aside an oilskin coat which someone had 
wrapped round him, sending no glance up- 
wards to where Sir John had marshalled Iris 
waiting chorus, indifferent to or unconscious 
of the many eyes that fed on him. If he 
showed anything at all, it was a sort of 
ruefulness at his water-sodden clothing. He 
glanced down at it with a little grimace ; 
then came forward deliberately to the ladder 
that led up to the promenade deck. 

His fellow-passengers made a lane through 
which for him to pass ; to one side of it 
waited Sir John. The young man reached 
the head of the ladder; Sir John stepped 
forward, an oratorical hand uplifted. 

" Ladies and gentlemen ! " He beamed 
upon them ; the voice that had held City 
diners spell-bound prevailed over the snatch 
of the wind. " Three cheers for the hero, 
Mr. C. Skinner ! Hip-hip-hip " 

" Hurrah ! " came the answering discord, 
and thrice, as the ritual requires, the 
" Hurrah " answered the " Hip-hip." 

Mr. C. Skinner came to a halt as Sir John 
began, and his set face showed first annoy- 
ance and then plain surprise. If there had 
been any present to watch closely enough it 
might have been remarked that the surprise 
commenced with the announcement of his 
name. He stared at Sir John blankly ; and 
then, as the last shrill and ragged cheer, died 
away, his face relaxed to a slow grin. To 
the other passengers and their applause he 
paid no attention ; he moved on and spoke 
to Sir John. 

" Well, Nosey Parker," were his astonishing 
words ; "so you've got the name at last ! " 

And not awaiting such reply as Sir John 
might have contrived, he showed a wet, 
ungracious, and departing back as he 
moved towards his cabin. And, since neither 
at lunch nor at dinner did he show himself 
in the saloon, Sir John gained no further 
opportunity to contaminate himself spor- 
tively with that particular pitch. And next 
morning he was too busy in getting ashore 
and easing himself and his belongings through 
the Customs to stay and watch how the hero 
received the reporters. 

There is an alchemy in the mere act of 
going ashore from a ship ; it is prone to turn 
the limp and seasick rag into a master of 
men and reveal the life and soul of the 
smoking-room as one as lifeless and soulless 



Touching Pitch 


as any other man* Even upon Sir John it 
had its effect. He had peeled from him the 
associations of his fellow- passengers as one 
duffs a soiled garment, and now he rode up- 
town towards his hotel wearing his customary 
front* He was genial still, nonchalant, and 
handsome, with a face tending readily to 
smiles and a fine 
s t ron g hos pi tali t y 
of manner; but 
there was no longer 
the indiscrim mat- 
ing accessibility, 
the air of general 
with which he was 
wont to sail the 
seas. He did not 
so much enter the 
city as don it like 
a uniform. 

HE lunched 
with friends 
at a club, 
but the afternoon 
he had to himself; 
he was not to com- 
mence real business 
till the next day. 
He sampled the 
Fifth Avenue and 
Broadway in the 
afternoon sun- 
shine, genuinely 
enjoying the vi- 
vacity of them ; 
but he was of his 
essence a gregar- 
ious and social 
creature, and, when 
evening came, he 
had had enough of 
being alone. A 
Military dinner in 
some restaurant, 
with him isolated 
at a table sur- 
rounded by pre- 
occupied couples, 
did not appeal to 
him ; tie checked 
his coat and hat 
and turned from 
the hall of the 
great hotel to- 
wards the dining- 
room. If, by 
chance, any ac- 

cjuaintance came to look him up, they would 
find him there. 

White -breasted, black-clad, decorous, and 
decorative, he paused in the entry to the 
huge room and glanced about to see if there 


were anyone he knew. If there should be 
such a one, he was assured of a welcome J 
one had to know Sir John very well indeed — 
much better than he allowed most men to 
know him 1 — ere one refused a greeting to his 
name „ his good looks, and his pleasant manner* 
He saw no friendly native, and moved forward 




Hip -hip- hip." 
the ' Hurrah " 

along an aisle between the tables to where 
an expectant waiter had drawn out a chain 
Suddenly he paused. At a small table by 
himself, and garbed like Sir John in the 
black~and-\vh;t?if!|Mf&fratfie livery of caste, 


Perceval Gibbon 


was Mr. C. Skinner, the silent young man 
from the ship, 

" Hallo ! " said Sir John, heartily. He 
stood at the side of the little table opposite to 
the young man. The other looked up sharply, 
" Fancy seein' you I Didn't get a chance of 
say in' * good -bye ' an' aJl that when we 

* Hurrah 1 * came the answering discord, and thrice, as the ritual 
answered the ' Hip-hip/ * 

landed." He put a shapely white hand on the 
spare chair, " D'you mind if I feed here*? " 
The young man was staring at him with a 
look of helplessness, but there was a light in 
his eye, too. 


" I don't in the least care where you feed/* 
he answered, crisply, 

" Right ! ,f said Sir John, and sat down, 
" Hate browsing alone, don't you ? Rather 
expected I'd see someone I knew somewhere ; 
that's why 1 came in here," 

" Well, you haven't," was the reply. 
Mr. Skinner beckoned a waiter, 
who game swiftly, " Say," he 
said, "is there a table free right 
the other side of the room ? There 
is?" He rose. "Well, bring 
the rest of my dinner to it, 
will you ?" 

Sir John sat back, and it 
is on record that he flushed 
brightly, " Really/ ' he 
said, "if you're so keen on 

bcin J alone I'll " 

The other paused in the 
act of walking away. His 
steady eye fixed Sir John's. 
*' Oh, keep your place/' he 
said. " There won't be any 
room for you at the other 
table I " 

He walked away, not 
angrily nor conspicuously, 
but to Sir John his straight 
black back was nearly as 
uncomfortable to look at 
us his contemptuous and 
unwavering eyes. 

11 Well, I'm dashed ! " 
breathed Sir John, "An* 
ail because I tried to 
be civil to the beggar! 
Anybody K d think — - 
anybody'd think I'd 
been borih* him ! " 

It was astonishing. 
Only once or twice 
before had he en- 
countered ashore 
humble shipmates of 
past journeys, and 
with them the single 
task had been to be 
gracefully rid of 
them* Never since 
he had" been knighted 
for a timely contribu- 
tion to the funds of 
the Conservative 
Party had he thus 
been despite fully 

"Only shows 
you," lie philoso- 
phized. fl Ong voyage is one thing ; 01?^ 
verl is another, Mustn't mix 'em. Never 
again I " 

And with these reflections Sir John Wotton 
figuratively . cleaned his fingers after their 

iguratively cleaned nis ni 

University of moigan 


Touching Pitch 

contact with that which proverbially one 
cannot touch without defilement. 

His activities in New York and in the 
great cotton centres of the South have no 
part in this narrative. He dealt, bought, 
and sold profitably ; his manner and style 
continued to serve him as a powerful asset ; 
and if he talked a little less often at dinner- 
tables of his hobby of turning his Atlantic 
passages into small and refreshing social 
adventures — this to men who had travelled 
as a matter of course on everything, from 
their own feet to the bumpers of freight-trains 
— the change was the one last trace of his 
encounter with pitch. And presently, in 
the course of time and business, he restored 
himself to his familiar environment in 

But it is the faculty of life to make strange 
joinings of its broken ends ; no wise man 
counts upon an incident as finally closed. 
One sees Sir John Wotton, after a business 
lunch in the restaurant of the Milan, strolling 
towards the lounge to glance at the first 
editions of the evening papers while finishing 
his cigar. White waistcoat-slip, white spats, 
dark tie and single pearl — the complete 
uniform of the millionaires — are like a decor 
de thedtre for the effective presentation of his 
confident and utterly secure personality. 

TWO or three sleek and youngish men 
were gathered about a little table, 
coffee-cups and liqueur glasses before 
them, conversing among themselves with 
that sort of wary quiet, that sufficient 
brevity of phrase, and the occasional over- 
loud laugh which is almost the professional 
manner of what is called the "sporting" 
man. Sir John gave them scarce a glance; 
he passed their table, picked up a paper, and 
straddled with his back to the fire-place, 
looking along its columns. If he was aware 
that someone entered the room immediately 
afterwards and crossed to the seated group of 
men, it was only sub-consciously. Yet their 
words struck upon his ear while he read. 

" Why, here's Clem ! " Someone was 
greeting the newcomer. " Come an' sit down 
here, Clem 1 What you goin' to have ? 
Billy — Jack — meet my friend, Mr. Skinner ! " 

Still Sir John did not look up ; the name 
did not strike him. There was a murmur of 
greetings and an order to a waiter. Then 
one of the others — Billy or Jack — spoke 

" Say, are you the fellow Frank here's 
been tellin' me about, who jumped off a ship 
in a storm to fish out a little girl that had 
fallen overboard ? " 

The man who had first greeted the new- 
comer — he had a voice as harsh as a sawmill 
— broke in with a reply. 

•• Sure this is him— Clem Skinner, 

r, the best 

ever I The Minnehaha — that was the ship ; 
it was in the papers ; an' old Clem here, 

he " 

He went on with his version of the tale. 
Sir John, over whom the noise of their talk 
had flowed without disturbance, suddenly 
caught the significance of it and looked up. 

The narrator's gestures sufficiently indi- 
cated which of the group was the newcomer ; 
his face was towards Sir John. The latter, 
with a novel feeling of discomfort at the 
encounter and then in more bewilderment, 
stared at him. 

He was a tall young man of about twenty- 
six or twenty-seven, and a catalogue of the 
main physical features of Sir John's fellow- 
passenger in the Minnehaha would also have 
served for & description of him. There was 
even the same little smear of dark moustache : 
but there the likeness ended. Here was 
none of that strong bronze of hue, none of 
the inborn reserve and taciturnity that were 
like a safe-door shut upon resources of 
character and personality. This man had a 
face that had seen more of lamp-light than 
of sunshine ; its leanness was wasted rather 
than trained and ascetic ; all the features 
seemed to droop and sag at the angle of the 
cigarette that dangled from the slack lip. 
And as he picked up his glass of brandy, his 
long, thin hand — a supple, adroit-looking 
hand that made the effect of some in- 
genious and narrowly-specialized instrument 
— quivered and slopped some of the liquor 
to the table. 

" Yes — tha's me," he corroborated, as the 
man with the sawmill voice concluded. 
M Goin' over to States — I was ; an' kid got 
spilled. Ole ship Minnehaha — yes ! Tha's 
right ! " 

He was in the sluggish stage of drink. As 
he spoke his head moved as if he were nodding 
in affirmation of his own statements. 

" An' where's your nurse, Clem ? " laughed 
the man who had first greeted him. " Where 
d'you manage to lose him ? " 

" Outside — telephone ! " The youth made 
a movement with his heavy head towards 
the door to the hall. " Want me come an' 
have Turkish bath. / don't wan' Turkish 
bath. Waiter — same again ! " 

Sir John could not have accounted for the 
impulse upon which he now acted. Why 
should he, of all people, move to vindicate 
the rightful hero of the rescue which he had 
witnessed ? It may be that the essential 
right is a first motive in every man ; we 
would all be champions if we could. What- 
ever it was, he laid down his paper and 
carried his presence over to the group about 
the table. 

• Excuse me ! " They looked round like 
one man. He was silent long enough for 
them to get the quality of him ; one learns 


Perceval Gibbon 


these tricks in business. " I have happened 
to overhear the last part of your conversation. 
Do I understand you to say " — this was 
spoken directly to the youth who sat in face 
of him where he stood over them — " do I 
understand you to inform these gentlemen 
that you are Mr. C. Skinner who rescued a 
child from on board the Minnehaha in 
August last ? " 

The " sporting " men stared. The youth 
goggled owlishly. 

" Wha' — wha's got to do with you ? " he 
demanded at last. 

" It has this much to do," replied Sir John. 
" I heard the statement made and I heard 
you corroborate it. I witnessed that accident 
and the rescue ; and you were not there." 

He was at his best now. They were all 
staring at him helplessly. The half-drunk 
youth gazed round vacantly. 

" Ole man says I'm not Clem Skinner ! " 
he observed in a stagnation of amaze. 

" Look here ! " The man with the rasping 
voice was recovering. " I don't know who 
you are." 

"I'll tell you," interrupted Sir John, 
crisply. " I am Sir John Wotton, and this 
man " — he pointed with an inexorable fore- 
finger — " is an impostor ! You had better 
be careful how you support him in his tale. 
The police are " 

" Hush, for the Lord's sake ! " besought 

The door from 
" Here's someone 

insisted Sir John. 

the harsh-voiced man. 
the hall was opening, 

" Anyone may come,' 
" As I was saying " 

He had meant to go on, plainly and audibly, 
and so to decline any privity or complicity 
with this impostor. But as the door opened 
and let the new arrival through, he fell as 
silent as any one of them could have desired. 

'* Here's nurse ! " said the harsh-voiced 
man, with a spurt of uneasy laughter. 

But Sir John did not hear him. He was 
staring with an almost ghastly astonishment 
at the man who entered, stood for a moment 
within the threshold looking around, and 
then strode forward towards the group. 
For here, at last, was the authentic young 
man from the Minnehaha, the man who had 
snubbed him so outrageously in the New 
York hotel — the pitch that he had touched 
and that would not be washed off. 

AS he advanced, he had a manner of seeing 
f\ none of them save the sodden young 
liar where he lounged in his chair. 
Sir John and the rest were relegated to the 
status of mere furniture. He touched the 
drunken youth on the shoulder. 

" Come on, Clem," he said. M Well get 
out of this now." 

"Not me!" protested Clem^ 1M don't 

wanna Turkish bath. 'U look here, Charlie ; 
there's ole guy says I'm not Clem Skinner. 
Ole guy there ! Wha'S he mean, eh ? 
Wha's he mean ? " 

He pointed waveringly ; his sleek friends 
were watching expectantly. The young 
man looked round impatiently at Sir John. 
A brief sound like a wordless oath escaped 

" You — again ! " he exclaimed. " Are you 
— are you following me round — or what ? " 

Sir John gathered himself together. ' I 
don't know what's going on here," he 
declared, " but it's something crooked. 
That man says he was the rescuer of the 
child who fell overboard from the Minnehaha 
and that his name is C. Skinner." 

" Well ? " demanded the other. 

" And I say he is no such thing," cried 
Sir John. " Confound it, sir ! Didn't I see 
you go overboard after that child myself ? 
Didn't I see you and the child brought 
aboard ? Didn't I meet you afterwards in 
New York ? D'ye take me for a fool ? 
Perhaps you'll deny that you were a pas- 
senger in the ship at all ? " 

The other was unmoved by his indignation ; 
he was unmistakably the man Sir John took 
him to be — his very calm and unresponsive- 
ness aided to identify him. 

" Perhaps," he answered, imperturbably, 
to Sir John's last question. " As a matter 
of fact these gentlemen can testify that I 
didn't leave London between July of last 
year and January of this. And this " — he 
laid his hand on the young drunkard's 
shoulder — " is Clement Skinner." 

" H'm ! " Sir John, with his wits about 
him, surveyed him carefully. ' I 3ee it's no 
use talking to you," he said. M Story agreed 
upon, witnesses prepared, and — apparently — 
alibis for two of you I Well, whatever you're 
planning, I'm going to spoil it for you. I 
shall put Scotland Yard on its guard as fast 
as my car can take me there ! " 

" Hey, look here ! " It was the sawmill 
voice raised in expostulation. Sir John 
ignored it. Severe and purposeful, he stalked 
to the door and forth from the room. In the 
same mood he collected his hat and stick : he 
was aware, as he passed through the hall, 
that the group had gathered in the door of 
the lounge and was watching him. He 
passed to the entrance and beckoned his car. 

The commissionaire opened the door of it 
for him, and he was in the act of stepping in 
when a voice spoke beside him. 

" I'll come, too, if you like," it said. 

It was the tall young man of the Minnehaha. 
He, too, had obtained his hat and cane and 
now stood, darkling and imperturbable as 
ever, awaiting Sir John's reply. 

• You ! " said Sir John. " All right; 
come on, then ! " 



Touching Pitch 

They took seats side by side in the big 
limousine and were borne away into the 
traffic of the Strand on their way to the 
Embankment and Scotland Yard. 

For a couple of minutes neither spoke. 
Then Sir John, in an outburst that would 
not be controlled : "I'm not going to stand 
this dam' mystification, you know ! " 

The other nouucd slowly. " You'd like 
an explanation ? " 

" You'll have to be pretty good at ex- 
plaining," said Sir John. 

" No," said the younger man. " I won't. 
But you'd have to be pretty good at under- 
standing. I've not seen any signs of that 
yet. However — Scotland Yard, if you like. 
If you can stand looking like a fool, I can 
stand seeing you do it." 

Sir John turned to regard him. " Is there 
time for your explanation ? " he demanded. 

" No," agreed the other. "I'm not good 
at telling things. It 'ud take longer than 
we'll need to get to Scotland Yard. Still — if 
we could go round by some longer way — it 
would save a lot of pain and sorrow to — to 
people who don't deserve it ! " 

For answer, Sir John picked up the 
speaking-tube to the chauffeur and the big 
car changed its course. Thus it came about 
that the tale was told within the luxurious 
box of the limousine while they moved about 
the drive in Hyde Park, seated hip to haunch, 
so that neither could gaze into the other's 

It proved that the young man was right, 
he was " not good at telling things." He had 
as little of the art of narrative as ever was 
bestowed upon a sane and articulate human 
being. But he began well. 

" That was Clem Skinner," he said. And, 
after a longish pause : " He's got a sister I " 

" Ah ! " said Sir John. 

THE young man was leaning forward in 
his seat, one hand over another on the 
head of his cane, his hat thrust back 
from his forehead. He spoke without 
warmth of voice, without gesture or vivid- 
ness of phrasing ; it was less like a tale than 
a formal report ; yet through its terse crudity 
there penetrated to his hearer some vision, 
some actual sense of its matter. 

" He's got a sister ! " She was, it ap- 
peared, a girl of twenty-four, an invalid, 
spending painful days looking upon the sea 
from a couch on the veranda of a villa at 
Antibes, on the French Riviera, living from 
dawn to dawn by virtue of the ministry of 
her doctors. Dark or fair, tall or little — 
that was not mentioned ; only in the tone of 
the narrator, a change of note, that showed 
like a glow through the level of his voice, 
conveyed to the listener a sense that for the 
speaker there was bound up in her the glory 

of life, the hope of heaven. " And he, Clem, 
he's all she's got — except me ; and she's 
crazy over him. He's — well, he's a bit 
liable to hit it up ; you noticed how he was, 
I expect ; and Monte Carlo was a lot too near 
to Antibes to give him a chance. So it came 
to be sort of understood, without anything 
said, between her and me, that I'd do my 
best to look out for him and generally do the 
guardian-angel, elder-brother business around 
him. You see — if he did a murder, she'd 
still be crazy over him." 

The guardian-angel and the elder-brother 
had not availed to ballast the youth who was 
spoken of as Clem. Those long, slim hands 
of his were shaped for the dealing and 
gathering-in of cards ; the youth had the 
character of a flabby jelly, that sinks by 
mere lack of fibre to the lowest attainable 
level. He would go to his sister's bedside, 
yet quaking and stinking from a debauch, 
and she would rebuke him lovingly and 
jestingly, as one reproves a too enterprising 
child. " His mother was like that," said the 

And all the while, he, her lover and willing 
servant, watched her melt, as it were, under 
his eyes, saw the mere bodily substance of 
her fade and diminish, and her life visibly on 
the ebb. 

Jerkily, in such bald phrases as he might 
have used to describe any everyday trans- 
action, he spoke of the conferences with \he 
doctors, the doubts, the deferred decisions 
that fed upon his heart like vampires. Then 
the eventual verdict : there must be found 
someone who would submit to a transfusion 
of blood from his full veins to her starved 
ones. There must be found someone- — as 
though that someone were not at hand, as 
though every drop of blood in all his hard 
and healthy body were not hers without the 

And naturally, it was Clem, her loved 
brother, who came forward and was chosen 
to make the gift. 

" Clem, darling," she had said. * Oh, I 
couldn't let you, but Dr. Vaucher says it's so 
utterly safe — and without it, Clem, we'd 
have to part. Clem, darling, all my life I'll 
love you for it ! " 

He had watched them together, Clem with 
his head bowed to the pillow, she with her 
thin arm about his neck. The transfusion 
was for the following day ; and that evening 
Clem had motored into Monte Carlo, and 
been motored back the following morning, 
unconscious, his blood-vessels foul with 

But — one heard in his voice that here he 
could have blessed the drunkard — she got 
the clean, strong blood after all. They 
blindfolded her; she was accustomed, as 
invalids are, to acquiesce passively in all 


Perceval Gibbon 


1 am Sir John Wotton, and this man * — he pointed with an inexorable forefinger— 

is an impostor I * " 

that a doctor dictates ; and for an hour he 
lay beside her and knew that the beating of 
ius heart was feeding and restoring hers. 

44 An' I took that Clem by the scruff of his 
soul and made him act it out, She wanted 
a brother that had saved her, an" what she 

wants I h m goin' to see that she gets/ Grateful 
to him ? I'll tell the world she was grateful. 
Grateful an* happy ! " 

She had rallied after that ; the rich life- 
stuff had saved her + And later it had been 
needful that Ckm should go to New York 



Touching Pitch 

upon a piece of family business. She had 
begged her lover to go with him. " I know 
— now — that he's all right," she had said. 
" But I can so trust you, Charlie ; you're 
such an elderly old thing ; and it would make 
me happier about Clem ! " Which settled 
it, of course, and he and Clem had departed 
for London and booked a two- berth cabin 
aboard the Minnehaha, sailing a week later. 

Clem had been difficult in London. He 
had a way of gambling, as monkeys have of 
scratching ; he drank almost as automatically 
as he breathed. He was as difficult to keep 
a steady eye on as the lively flea ; and during 
their sojourn in London he had broken away 
from his companion. 

" Gambling-j oint, it was, in one o* those 
flats in the West-end. He knew where to 
find it all right. Lot o' jolly men — all 
maiors and captains, you know ; bunch of 
women who know the Duke of Hell and the 
dear old Earl of Blazes — and then the fools, 
the come-ons, champagne, bridge for baby 
points, an' later on, when somebody gets 
tired of it, chemin-de-fer. It's quieter than 
highway robbery an' much more profitable. 
An' there they were, Clem drunk — of course 
— and the money and the cards lying about, 
when in came the police. An' Clem — I told 
you he was drunk — pulls his gun an' shoots." 

Nobody had been hit ; it was not as bad 
as that. The promoters of the game had 
been heavily fined ; the magistrate had 
showered penalties left and right ; but Clem 

had been "sent for trial. ' Six months, he 
got ; six months' hard labour 1 An' that 
poor girl at Antibes." 

" How did she take it ? " asked Sir John. 

" She never knew," answered the other. 
" Clem gave a false name ; he was sentenced 
under it. And I went on alone to New York. 
And since that affair o' the kid on the 
Minnehaha — well, I've made Clem act that 
out, too. He's a real hero now. So you see 
why I couldn't let you go to Scotland Yard." 

THEY were near Hyde Park Corner, and 
he tapped on the glass for the chauffeur 
to halt. The car drew to a standstill ; 
he opened the door. Sir John drew a deep 

" I don't know what to say," he said. 
" It's — it's all very queer. That girl — that 
young lady — she's bound to find out some 
day. A false name, you know " 

The other, one foot on the step, shook his 

Who's to tell her ? " he asked. 

" Anyhow," said Sir John, " it's a pity 
she can't know what she owes you. I'd 
advise, if you'll permit me, that when next 
you see her " 

"No," said the younger man. "There isn't 
going to be a next time. You see, Clem had 
to give some name. So he gave mine." 

He nodded, and, straightening that stiff 
back of his, turned and walked away towards 
the Park gates. , 


(The Second of the Series.) 
From this last remnant of our French domain 
Cheap holidays and milking cows we gain. 

1. One prefix add, an artist if you wish : 
Another half gives an Italian dish. 

2. She married— that we know. Did she exist T 
We are left doubtful by the novelist. 

3. Hence made the harmonious blacksmith melody : 
'Twas underneath a spreading chestnut tree. 

4. Where pedlars ply a roaring trade by night, 
Its flare affords the necessary light. 

5. Trained in this art, the captain does not dread 
The rocks beneath or tempests overhead. 

6. From bleak Castile he brought his Spanish queen. 
Few greater monarchs England yet has seen. 

7. Who of its fruit the taste has once enjoyed 
Joins, all too willinglv, the unemployed. 


Answers to Acrostic No. 08 should be addressed to *he 
Acrostic Editor, The Strand Magazine, Southampton 
Street. Strand, London, W.C.2, and must arrive not later 
than by the first post on September \Oth. 

To every light one alternative answer may be sent; it 
should be written at the side. At the foot of his answer every 
solver should write his pseudonym and nothing else. 

If 8eascns by their fruits are known, 
Autumn and summer here are shown. 

1. In spacious times queen good and great. 

2. Luminous and of little weight. 

3. When thus, a door is not a door. 

4. Now think of eighteen fifty-four. 

5. Sounds new, as someone was aware. 

6. Tis thus some ladies treat their hair. 

7. A Roman standard, or a bird. 

8. Five-lettered palindromic word. 

9. A current yarn, untrue perhaps. 

10. Recurring, when twelve months elapse. 































ef e 




u mo u 






Solvers who write to the Acrostic Editor and des»re 
answers to their queries should, with their letters, enclose 
a stamped addressed envelope, and he will endeavour to 






THE public stock of harmless pleasure 
was diminished just eighteen years 
ago — August 5th, 1903 — by the death 
of Phil May. He enjoyed a double 
privilege, inasmuch as while that considerable 
portion of the community which claims no 
special knowledge of black-and-white art 
highly approved of him as a powerful artist 
of " infinite jest," his unmistakable genius 
was fully recognized by his contemporary 
artists. Among them was Whistler, who 
once exclaimed, " Black-and-white art can 
now be summed up in two words — Phil May." 

Ruskin thought very little of Whistler, 
Posterity has reversed that opinion, And 
so it must always happen with those 
of us who claim to be 
experts. In discrimina- 
tion we may often be 
somewhat ahead of the 
"crowd/* but it is always 
posterity— that is to say, 
the *' crowd M of a later 
generation — which sifts 
the claims of an artist, and 
debates or discards the ex- 
pert's opinion, until the 
work of the artist finds its 
true level, 

In the case of Phil May 
the great public has been 

so steadily educated in what we term black- 
and-white that one is no longer appealing 
to a small coterie, but to almost anyone 
df intelligence in looking behind the scenes, 
as it were, and in glancing at some of 
his sketch-book and hitherto unpublished 
work, finding out for ourselves that be- 
yond Phil May the great humorist was Phil 
May the great artist. He never dodged 
difficulties, He was for ever seeking them 
out in order to conquer them. 

It was Mr. E, T. Reed, himself so wtll 
known for his '* Prehistoric Peeps M and bis 
Parliamentary sketches in Punch, who said 
to me the other day, * H I regard Phil May 
as the finest pencil artist that we have 
ever had." 

Apart from the extreme 
economy of line of his pc n- 
work in the St. Stephen's 
Revieiv, Sydney Bulletin, 
Graphic, Sketch, u The 
Parson and the Painter/' 
and, finally. Punch f his 
pencil- work, the powerful 
modelling of his figures, 
his mastery of the whole 
realm of black-and-white 
work, was the wonder and 
admiration of all who saw 
""^"^anything ofit. 


236 Phil May : Some Unpublished Drawings 

Of those who were intimate with the great 
artist I have been surprised to find how many 
regarded his genius as a sort of meteoric 
event. Much as they loved him — and to 
know him well was to do that — they seemed 
to have thought that, like To pay, he just 
*' growed," and sprang from nowhere. Nature 
seldom, if ever, indulges in tills class of 
phenomena* Wherever you find ability rising 
to the point which entitles us to use 
such a strong word as " genius/'* we 
shall find that some immediate or 
more remote ancestor has made some 
sort of progress along the same line of 
effort. The facts are that his 
paternal grandfather, Charles 
May, who was Squire of Whit- 
tington (near Chesterfield) and 
Master of the Beagle Hounds 
for many years, was a very 
clever amateur draughtsman 
and devoted much of his leisure 
to portraying local and village 
celebrities, using both ink and 
water-colour, Phil May spoke 
of his father as also having 
been quite a gifted amateur, 
although confining himself to 
the vivid delineation of horses, 
" which/' Phil May would add. 
with a smile, * he was not less 
fond of riding." 

It was due to the failure of 
his father in business, and Ins 
death when Phil was a child, that 
the artist had to encounter the 
bitterest possible struggle for life. 
There was nothing he liked less than 
talking of himself, but he has told 
me, with a wry grin, of how he used 
to be compelled to take shelter for 
the night under a cart in Co vent 
Garden, and made the close ac- 
quaintance of a lot of 4w low life "in 
that way. He told me of one occa- 
sion when he "swapped" his walk 
ing-stick for an orange which dome 
ragged urchin was about to enjoy, 
and that was all the food Phil had 
for the day. I think it was mainly 
due to the extreme poverty and keen vicissi- 
tudes of his early life that comparative pros- 
perity produced a reaction which resulted, 
for one thing, in rather reckless generosity 
and somewhat indiscriminate charity. 

Always averse to discussing himself, there 
were two things which he impressed upon me 
more than once, One was that the only artist 
who had ever influenced him was Linley 
Sam bourne, because of the economy of means 
in his work, and the other was his great desire 
to illustrate all the works of Charles Dickens, 
It was not to be wondered at that he was 
such a hearty Dickensian, for he shared with 

the other great master his love of the oddities, 
the candour, and the sensibilities of low life, 
with an almost corresponding distaste for 
the characteristics and foibles of the patrician. 
He looked upon his projected Dickens illus- 
trations as likely to be his magnum opus, as 
something by which he was ready to be judged 
by posterity. He only illustrated one volume. 
There was one thing about which he w r as 
somewhat sensitive. He assured me 
that, although he so often went to 
race meetings, he did so only to 
sketch, and never to bet. He liked 
riding horses, but never * backed ** 
them. This form of vicarious 
sport" did not appeal to his 
sympathies. Yet it was not sur- 
prising if people misunderstood 
him in this regard, for not only 
did the humours oi racing afford 
him such a wide scope for his 
pencil, but Ins fondness for his cob 
and his consequent appearance at 
the clubs, the Caf6 Royal, and else- 
where, in his bold check coat, 
riding breeches, and gaiters, 
and the eternal cigar gripped 
in his teeth, together with his 
rather horsey look of preter- 
natural sagacity, were not 
only reminiscent of racing but 
served to remind one that in his 
early youth he had desired to 
escape the drudgery of uncongenial 
and very badly paid work by becom* 
ing a lackey. 

Apart irom his work, Phil May had 
a sardonic humour of his own which 
he indulged in occasionally, A short 
time before the marriage of our pre- 
sent King he was commissioned by 
the Graphw to make a pictorial tour 
round the world, With him was 
Mr. E* S. Grew. The tour broke 
down when May had got no farther 
than the United States. The day oi 
his return to London was the day of 
V the Royal event, and many of the 

banners bore the simple legend G. 
& M," Phil drove to the office of a 
not over- pleased editor and told him how 
delighted he was that, together with his 
colleague, the populace should welcome him 
home in this splendid way ! 

Similarly, when out of England an irate 
tailor to whom the artist owed quite a 
tangible amount, alarmed at his absence, 
wrote him constant reminders. On Phil's 
return to London he called on the tailor at 
once, with a cheque for the amount, and 
thanked him most heartily for the large 
number of letters he had received from him. 
' You were the only man to write and make 
me think of the dear old faces at home, and, 


Arthur Lawrence 



* &4 Oid far* #ZW iuUf. 

bless you, my friend I — although I never had 
the courtesy to reply, yet you returned good 
for evil and continued to write ! '* 

I have a letter before me in the hand- 
writing of the great cricketer, the late W. G. 
Grace. It is addressed to Phil May. I will 
only quote the first sentence, 

" Dear Sir,— Why, oh why, did you give 
Square Leg wicket-keeper gloves when you 
showed us *Arry at the wicket ? M 

Rcminiscent of the answer to the old 
question of * 4 Why does a miller wear a 
white fiat ? M Phil wired back: "To keep 
his hands warm." 

Very often Phil was the victim of this form 
of facetiae, notably when, on one occasion, 
the editor of the Graphic felt none too sure 
that he could rely upon May for a full-pagn 
sketch which he had undertaken to do for 
a Special Number. Finding that Phil was 
about to stay at a certain hotel at the seaside, 
the editor had a number of posters printed 
off swiftly and induced the proprietor of the 
hotel to have them hung up in certain places 
before Phil arrived. Consequently, when 
Phil sat down to dinner and looked up he 
saw on the opposite wall : " Do not forget 
your sketch for the Special Number." The 


reminder confronted him in the billiard-room 
and elsewhere. When he retired to bed the 
same adjuration stared at him from the four 
walls of the room. When he went out in the 
morning there were several men walking up 
and down in front of the hotel with the same 
printed slur on his intentions. Impressed 
with the notion that these men or others 
might have instructions to follow him wher- 
ever he went, May dashed off to the post-office 
and wired his sincere assurances tiiat all 
would be well, whereupon this tyrannizatjon 
by poster was promptly suppressed. 

The jokes which Phil used for his drawings 
came to him in all sorts of ways, some, as it 
were, by inspiration, others arose from his 
ceaselessly acute observation, and quite a 
number were sent to him through the post 
or were administered to him verbally and 
duly noted down on the shirt -cuff or else- 
where. It may not be quite so keenly 
appreciated by the public as it is by the 


The illustrations on 
these two pages show 
his various methods of 
making trial sketches (or 
a finished picture. 

Original from 

238 Phil May : Some Unpublished Drawings 

Then on the question of large fa in 1 lies 
came the story of the Great Elk. ''The 
father took his wife and a considerable pro- 
geny to one of the exhi- 
bitions at which there 
were many fascinating 
side-shows. They proved 
to be so numerous *uid 
the family so extensive 

A fascinating example of his most 
minute work. 

humoristic artist that the most useful joke 
is that which can be almost, if not altogether, 
expressed in the sketch. One excellent 
instance of this is the drawing he marie of a 
man who has sought refuge in a cage of lions, 
with an angry woman shaking her fist at him 
through the bars, One realizes at once that 
the man is more afraid of the woman than 
he is of the lions, and it is almost unnecessary 
to look at the inscription beneath to see that 
she is exclaiming '* You coward ! " 

Of anecdotes which he could not very well 
use for a sketch perhaps I may be permitted 
to relate one or two, in the likelihood that 
they have not been published before, I had 
remarked it as a noteworthy thing that the 
Scot, instead of being offended, liked to hear 
stories of the alleged meanness of the Scot. 
4i That is so/' he replied, "and in a very few- 
words I can give you the last one that a Scot 
told me. He spoke of a brother Scot who 
saw a sixpenny- bit lying in the read. Dis- 
regarding the traffic, he rushed forth 
to secure it. He was run over and 
killed. The jury brought in a 
verdict of f Death from natural 
causes ! ' " 

sketch which 

action it 

for the tremendous amount of 

An unfinished sketch, hill 
of life and action, 

and eager that before long Papa 
realized that he was likely to 
become bankrupt. Whereupon 
he proceeded to steer his family 
tothe main exit. Theexoduswas 
on the verge of accomplishment 
when the family caught sight 
of a poster- present- 
ment of the Great 
Elk. All the child- 
ren clamoured to see 
it, and even the ' mis- 
sus ' thought it ought 
to be done. In a 
state of despair it 
occurred to Papa 
that he might try to 
bring off a business 
deal. Consequently 
he made his way 
alone tothe entrance 
of the side-show and 
asked for the pro- 
prietor, who ap- 
peared in response 

fro B the 


Arthur Lawrence 


Some quaint studies from Phil May's sketch-book. 

- What is it ? J said he. ' Well/ said Papa, 
Tather nervously, ' the fact is I have rather 
a large family and they all want to see 
the Great Elk, Couldn't you make a 
reduction for a quantity ? ' * Well/ said 
the showman, 'I don't know about that. 
How many are there of you ? * ' There's the 
missus and seventeen children/ * 'Ow many 
children ? ' ' Seventeen ! " * Don't you worry 

VoL kiL-16. 

about seeing the Great Elk ' said the man ; 
* Til bring the Great Elk out to see you ! ' M 

With reference to the sketches accompany- 
ing this article, the studies of the convict 
and jailer, on pages 236 and 237, provide an 
instance of the ''second thoughts " which Phil 
May often indulged in. There is a study of 
the convict, followed bv the complete sketch 

^JNf?!R:#5F*fc.r cription ' and 

240 Phil May : Some Unpublished Drawings 



This masterly drawing is one of the comparatively 
few done by Phil May in pencil, 

afterwards an entirely new study in which, 
by the way, we notice his habit of making a 
footnote to some of his sketches in the form 
of a little sketch of himself. 

The extraordinarily ft tie bit of work which 
he has enclosed in a border is reproduced on 
page 238 the same size as his sketch, and 
furnishes a fascinating example of his most 
minute work. Hardly less interesting are 
the score of quaint studies with which he 
has surrounded the seated figure of a man 
in full enjoyment of what would seem to be 
some racy anecdote. 

In the other sketches we have the poise 
of the pugilist, w + hile the tremendous 
amount of action in the contretemps with 
horses driven tandem is as remarkable as 
the expression with which the artist invests 
one of the pantomime characters which he 
was so fond of depicting. 

All the sketches are from the collection 
of Mr. John Ross, with the exception of 
two, one of them an example of his 
strong pencil work, ,f Reminiscence of an 
opium ' jag ' in 'Frisco/' lent me by Mr, 
E. T. Reed, and a sketch of himself with 
" Punch's " hump K riding a toy horse, with 
Toby running alongside — one of several 
sketches with which he commemorated his 
election to the staff of Punch in 1896. This 

is from the collection made by Mr, Arthur 
Morrison, which he has now presented to 
the British Museum, 

Phil May had several minor accomplish- 
ments. He sang most melodiously with a 
tenor voice of rare quality. He alto ex- 
celled as an expert siffleur, so that he was 
in great request at little evening affairs in 
St. John's Wood and elsewhere. He spent 
some of his spare moments in composing 
songs which were set to music by Lohr + 
These songs, notably "Two Rose Songs," 
achieved some popularity, and even now 
small sums by way of royalties come wan- 
dering along. 

Admitted by his contemporaries to be 
the greatest black-and-white artist of our 
own time, his art was referred to by Lord 
Leighton in the following w T ords: "As a 
subtle draughtsman and delineator of 
character tins man is head and shoulders 
above anybody else/ 1 and of Phil Mayas 

A sketch of himself made to commemorate 
his election to the " Punch " staff* 

a man a well-known editor for whom May 
worked for many years whites to me that * he 
had a wonderful feeling for all that is finest 
in humanity, and I should like to testifv that 
he w r as one of the most lovable men I have 
ever known/' Such an In Memoriam, ex- 
pressed in much the same words by all who 
knew T him, is of a nature with wdiich anyone 
might well rest content, 






THE young 
man en- 
tered pom- 
pously. He 
greeted Sir Honor 
Mason with a seJf- 
composure so com- 
plete as to be ob- 
viously unreal. He 
accepted the prof- 
fered chair, and 
allowed a minute 
or more to pass 
before saying in a 
voice that told he had no fears on the 
score ■ — 

" I hope I am not presumptuous in calling 
on you at your private residence, Sir Honor ? " 

" I, too, hope you are not. 1 ' 

Tubal Armstrong's wits were so focused 
on appearing quite at his ease that he failed 
to notice the coldness of the tone or the 
menace of the words used by Sir Honor 
Mason. Neither tones nor words were of 
the kind one would expect to hear pass in 
greeting between a man of business and his 

" I am not here to trouble yon lightly," 
continued Armstrong. f4 I have carefully 
considered my position J I concluded it my 
duty to come here, and I have come/' 

Sir Honor never for a moment shifted his 
challenging gaze from the face of the young 
man. He allowed the statement to pass 
without any expression from him. 

** Before t however, proceeding to tell you 
what 1 have come here to tell, I must, in 
justice to myself, say that I feel you have not 
reposed the confidence in me that I deserve.'* 

He paused, but again Sir Honor , said 

" I feel, too, that after this interview my 




usefulness as an 
assistant in your 
office will be in- 
creased, or else it 
will cease* That 
emboldens me, Sir 
Honor, and I shall 
speak frankly. 
When your sprained 
ankle "— he nodded 
towards Sir Honor's 
bandaged leg — 
"when your 
sprained ankle laid 
you up, you placed a Mr. Phillips, a 
stranger in the office, over my head as right- 
hand man to. your nephew, Mr. Harry, That 
act I complain of," , 

He glanced at Sir Honor, who after a 
while nodded a short nod. 

11 Now, to show you that I am not wholly 
unobservant I tell you that this Mr, Phillips 
— The Temporary we call him — was placed 
there by you not because of his value as a 
worker. The reason of The Temporary's 
presence in the office and over my head is that 
you trust him to keep your nephew from 
breaking out. You feared, and you had 
better cause to fear than you knew, that Mr. 
Harry might * get going '; that one morning, 
because of the night before, your nephew would 
fail to turn up, and that the office would be 
left in the lurch. Mr. Harry's failing is plain 
to all. You placed The Temporary in the office 
not for the work he might do but to keep an 
eye on Mr. Harry while he is in charge of the 
business during your absence/* 

The young man paused to give Sir Honor 
the opportunity to say " Yes " or ft No.*' Sir 
Honor said not a word, Armstrong tried 
to feel at ease by telling himself that he 
had the winning card up his sleeve. 



Setting the Detective a Puzzle 

" You -passed me over, , I who know Mr. 
Harry's, failing, and the symptoms that 
precede an outbreak. I think I was entitled 
to the job ". . 

" I think otherwise," interrupted Sir 
Honor, the very iciness of his tones telling of 
anger within him. - His words did not cause 
Armstrong to deviate from the course he had 
marked out. 

" Let me tell you what has happened. 
Shortly before ope o'clock yesterday a 
Mr. Smee called at the office and was intro- 
duced by his friend The Temporary to 
Mr. Harry. All three went out to lunch 
together, and at two-thirty The Temporary 
returned alone. At four-thirty Mr. Harry 
and Smee came back to the office. It was 
obvious they had been indulging. Mr. 
Harry caused us to make up the safe half an 
hour earlier than usual, putting away books 
and cash. After locking the safe he and 
Smee went out, and it was twelve o'clock 
to-day before he returned to the office." 

Again Armstrong parsed, obviously ex- 
pecting Sir Honor to say something. Again 
he was disappointed. « 

" When Mr. Harry unlocked the safe we 
got the books. But not the money." 

This last statement,: uttered in a quiet, 
mysterious voice, did call forth an exclama- 
tion from the baronet. * *. 

" Not the money ! What do you mean ? " 

" The money had gone." 

"Gone ? " ^ 

" Close upon a hundred pounds, Sir Honor." 

The baronet glared at the clerk. 

".The cash-box was not empty, however. 
It held Mrr Harry's visiting card, on which 
was written : ' I O U the Cash. Harry 

Sir Honor's face flushed red. His clerk, 
noticing this, inwardly rejoiced. He had felt 
himself on the defensive; now he guessed 
that Sir Honor was beginning to understand 
the strength of his position. ' - 

" Mr. Harry is abjectly mortified. He is 
distressed beyond measure," went on Arm- 
strong in smooth, even tones that aggravated. 
"He vaguely remembers returning to the 
office some time during the night. He thinks 
he returned to make sure he had locked 
the safe. He remembers nothing about the 
money, nor has he more than two pounds on 
him. He is in a maze — amazed. He was 
for rushing off here at once to lay everything 
before you, but The Temporary induced him 
to hold back until such time as Smee is 
found and all avenues explored. Smee may 
know what happened last night. Smee had 
not been found at the time I left the office. 
I fancy Smee will not be readily found. I 
saw it my duty to let you know what has 
happened and is happening, and instead of 
taking lunch I came straight here." 

THERE followed a long silence. Sir 
Honor was staring wistfully, almost 
dreamily, at the bandaged ankle. 
Armstrong knew right well how much Sir 
Honor loved his nephew and heir, young 
Harry Mason, and how completely his 
hopes were bound up in the generous, 
open-hearted young man's welfare and 
future. It was not surprising, then, thaCt the 
baronet should be stricken dumb. 

On a sudden the clerk turned to Sir Honor. 

" Sir Honor, from the evidence before you 
what do you deduce ? " 

The baronet spoke very, very quietly. 

" That my nephew, meeting a congenial 
soul, lunched all too well yesterday, that he 
began in the afternoon and continued into 
the night, that during the nigtit he required 
more money, that he took the money from 
the office safe, that he left his I O U, and 
to-day, his head far from clear,* he finds his 
pockets. empty bui has no idea how he got 
rid of his money." *■ 1 { 

" Do you recognize something further ? " 

Sir Honor did give this* question con- 
siderable thought, then suddenly hit upon 
the right answer. : 

" You mean I should now recognize that 
I made a mistake in not appointing you to be 
my nephew's guardian ? " : * * % ~ " 

" Had you done so, Sir- Honor, there 
would have been no genial Smee, no over- 
festive luncheon" yesterday, no cash. missing 
to-day. I make bold to state that frankly. 
But I leave it at that. Now let me tell you 
that your diagnosis is wrong." ,r 

" Wrong ? " ejaculated the baronet, in 

The clerk placed his palms on his knees, 
shot his face forward, and stared direct into 
Sir Honor's eyes. 

" The Temporary stole the money." ~ 

A little while and the cold composure 
returned to Sir Honor. Armstrong was 
visibly disappointed. He had looked for 
an explosion, and no such thing happened. 

" Your nephew is tearing his heart to 
tatters, and all the time the man wKcr did 
steal the money is standing by as cool a£ you 
please and offering unfelt sympathy. Your 
office at the moment is a place of tragedy — 
and comedy. Your nephew, Mr. Harry,is in the 
very depths of despair. The Temporary is play- 
acting. He looks on without a quiver at the 
excruciating mental agony of one he perfectly 
well knows to be innocent. He is moving 
about the office with an air that says he 
trusts sincerely all will come out all right in 
the end, knowing quite well there is not a 
million-to-one chance of it coming out right 
for Mr. Harry and wrong for the thief. 
But, by thunder, that million-to-one chance 

comes off." Qriair al from /: ' 

Armsfran^ Jetting himself go, : brought his 

James Barr 


' The clerk placed his palms on hi* knees and stared direct into Sir Honor'* eyes. 

Temporary stole the money/ he said/' 


right fist thumping down upon the palm of 
his left hand. 

" Mr. Harry did not touch the money ; 
Mr, Phillips did touch it. In both meanings 
of the word he ' touched ' it," 

This time Armstrong resolved not to 
continue till Sir Honor displayed some desire 
to hear more. Sir Honor, after a time, 
asked the clerk to proceed. 

" I hope I am not conceited, but I have 
always considered myself a bit of a detective. 
However. I do not lay claim to great credit 

for detecting The Temporary, except, of 
course, that I have been rewarded for a 
vigilant watch-out in the interests of the 
office carried on by me ever since I was 
employed by you, Above my desk, you 
may not have noticed, is a small mirror ■'* 

M I have noticed. It commands a clear 
view of the door $0 my private office/' 

Sir Honor came out with this so fiercely flat 
that for the first time Armstrong became 
just a trifle flustered. 

Mh*jrartfe.flf Honor - but that 


Setting the Detective a Puzzle 

is not the purpose o* the mirror. I have a 
just pride in myself. In an office such as 
yours a clerk, sir, with his necktie awry, or 
ink on his cheek, is not a credit." 

The baronet allowed his lips to twitch into 
the briefest possible smile, but said nothing. 

" One week after Mr. Phillips was in- 
stalled as Temporary," continued Armstrong, 
" I happened to glance up into the mirror. 
As y#u have observed, it hangs over against 
where I sit and a little above the level of 
pay head, so that it takes in a view of the 
book-keeper's desk and the safe as well as 
Vour door. The book-keeper had gone out 
and I and The Temporary were alone in the 
office. By the merest chance I glanced up 
at the mirror in time to see a remarkable 
happening. It was this. The Temporary 
had placed on the book-keeper's desk the 
little bag he brings with him to the office 
each morning and takes away each evening. 
At the moment I shot my fortunate glance 
I saw him hastily open the bag and drop 
something into it. Guess what that some- 
thing was ? " 

Sir Honor shook his head. 

,4 The office soap ! " 

" The office soap ? " exclaimed the baronet, 
incredulously. " Ridiculous ! " 

" Wait a moment. Perhaps not so ridicu- 
lous as you think. I, too, thought it 
ridiculous until — but all in good time. The 
Temporary glanced round to make sure he had 
not been observed and satisfied himself that 
such was the case, for I was too sharp to be 
detected. He then placed the bag on the 
floor. Later on he kicked up a fuss because 
the soap had vanished from the wash-stand." 

11 A piece of ordinary yellow soap ? " 
exclaimed Sir Honor, incredulously. 

" I thought it a piece of ordinary soap. 
The Temporary, however, had turned it 
into a piece of extraordinary yellow soap." 

' I am mystified," admitted Sir Honor. 

" So was I — for a time. I could not 
believe my eyes, I felt I was doing The 
Temporary an injustice in looking upon him 
as a petty thief. So, indeed, I was. In 
order to prevent myself doing an injustice 
I felt it my duty to do an unmannerly thing. 
I watched my chance. I opened his bag to 
make sure it was the office soap." 

" And it was ? " 

" It was more. Our soap lay there 
strangely decorated . ' ' 

" I am tired of mystery. Make your 
meaning plain." 

" The design on the soap was the print oi 
our safe key. Our safe key had been pressed 
into the soap, leaving a clear print of its 
make. That morning Mr." Harry had care- 
lessly left the kev in the safe." 

" Then you think " 

" This is how I piece together the jigsaw 

puzzle after thinking the matter over 
seriously! From that impression in the soap 
The Temporary had a key made to open the 
safe. He got his friend Smee to induce 
Mr. Harry to drink too much. Smee, when 
Mr. Harry was fuddled and muddled, 
suggested going to the office to see that the 
safe was locked. Mr. Harry, acting foolishly, 
did look into the office, found the safe quite 
all right, and went away. Then along comes 
The Temporary, opens the safe with his 
key, takes the cash, places the forged I O U 
in the cash-box. locks the safe again, and — 
voila I " 

Armstrong beamed on Sir Honor a " There- 
you-are " look. 

41 The Temporary has the money ; Mr. 
Harry has the dishonour. So thinks The 
Temporary ; so thinks Mr. Harry. But 
Mister Thieving Temporary is reckoning 
without my little looking-glass. A few 
moments ago you yourself smiled at the 
vanity of it. My mirror smiles back." 

41 That is all ? " asked Sir Honor, after a. 

" Enough, too, I should think," answered 
the clerk. 

" And so do I," said Sir Honor, in a tone 
that implied the interview had come to an 

ARMSTRONG as he arose shot a startled 
glance at the older man. This abrupt 
simultaneous dismissal of the subject 
and himself was alarming. He steadied him- 
self, then stated : — : 

" I have overstepped routine. Duty im- 
pelled me. I have come to you in office time ; 
I have gone over the heads of my superiors ; 
I have reported direct to you. I have 
either done right or I have done wrong ; my 
reward will tell me which. I ask to know." 

" Your reward will be a just reward," said 
Sir Honor, cryptically. 

Armstrong stood for a few seconds un- 
decided, then asked : — 

" Am I still in your employ, Sir Honor ? " 

" I have not discharged you." 

"Is my position in your employ the same 
as before coming here ? " 

'• At the moment exactly the same. You 
have done your duty according to your lights. 
Two weeks from to-day come to me in my 
office and tell me whether you believe you 
have won promotion." 

Completely mystified by his employer's 
bearing towards him, Armstrong, crest- 
fallen, but still believing in himself and still 
hopeful, hurried back to the office. 

LESS than half an hour after the clerk 
had quitted the baronet's door the 
maid announced Mr, Norbert Phillips. 
Atmen^ fl , i ^.^ |; Temporar^^name Sir 

James Barr 


Honor's sprained ankle seemed to make a 
marvellously sudden mend, for it incon- 
venienced him in no way when he hurried 
to meet him at the door. 

" I thought it better to see you, Sir Honor, 
before your nephew had a chance. I expect 
he'll be along some time this evening. He 
has something to tell you." The Tem- 
porary was smiling broadly. " He has had 
a shock. He has suffered." 

*' You stole the office soap," asserted Sir 
Honor, abruptly. 

The Temporary started violently, and 
swung his face sharp towards the baronet and 
raised his brows in surprise. Sir Honor 
spoke at great speed. 

" You stole the office soap. On it you 
took an impression of the safe key, from 
that impression you had a key made, you 
got a friend of yours to dine and over-wine 
my nephew, you made use of your key, you 
removed the cash, you left in the cash-box 
a false I O U which confronted Harry when 
the safe was opened on his arrival at the 
office late to-day. There's where the shock 
came in. The boy thinks he took the office 
money — my money. . The boy thinks he 
squandered the office money — my money. 
He suffers agonies. I have given you the 
first half of the story, be good enough to tell 
me the end " — here Sir Honor's voice rose 
and his eyes darted fire — " for, by heavens ! 
sir, there's got to be an end to the story that 
leaves my splendid nephew's name un- 
tarnished. There has got to be an end that 
leaves the splendid boy's conscience clear. 
I would not have that great-hearted boy 
go through life thinking he had rifled my 
safe — no, not for all I possess. Now, what is 
the end ? " 

The baronet in his intensity had towered 
threateningly over The Temporary, who gazed 
up at him flabbergasted. 

" The soap ? The false key ? How — how 
do you know of the soap and the key ? " 

" Sir, the ' how ' matters not one jot. 
What does matter, and matters vitally, is 
this : How have you arranged the facts 'so 
as to effect the purpose we have in view, the 
saving of the boy from himself, and still 
leave him without a stain on his soul ? 
That's what I wait to hear." 

The Temporary laughed rather a dis- 
concerted and puzzled laugh. 

" I thought I came here to tell you 

How you come to know However, as 

you say, the ' how ' matters not a rap. With- 
out more ado I'll give you the end. It's such 
an end as I sought to reach — and you." 

" An end that leaves Harry in possession 
of his good name ? " 

The Temporary nodded affirmatively. 

With a sigh of relief more intense than 
one would have expected from such a 

strong character, Sir Honor sank back into 
his chair. 

" Let me hear the end," he said, quietlv. 
" I feared " 

" When the cash was found to be missing 
I sent for my friend Smee." 

" By the way, who or what is Mr. Smee ? " 

" A mesmerist — hypnotist." 

" Does that explain Harry's midnight 
visit to the office ? " 

" Yes. Smee made use of his uncanny 
science to project Into the mind of your 
nephew the suggestion that the safe had 
been left unlocked, and he accompanied 
Harry to the office at midnight. Smee is a 
good actor, too. An hour ago when we got 
him to the office — he was waiting at a pre- 
arranged place for the call — the surprise he 
showed at hearing of the missing money was 

" He knew, of course, you had taken the 
money ? " 

" He did not know I had taken it, for I 
have not taken it." 

Sir Honor shot a challenging glance at 
The Temporary. In answer to that glance 
The Temporary said : — 

" You know more than I guessed, but you 
do not know as much as you guess." 

" Come, come, Mr. Phillips. You are not 
going to pretend to me that my nephew 
took " 

" Perhaps, Sir Honor, you'd best hear me 
out/ Smee vowed that your nephew, at his 
midnight visit, had brought away no money 
from the office. Yet there yawned an 
empty cash- box and there lay ,an I O U. 
Then Smee evolved an inspiration. He set 
about reconstructing the crime — that is to 
say, the doings of the night before so far as 
the office and the safe were concerned. 
In the office we acted a scene that would 
have gladdened the heart of a Paris criminal 
judge. Your nephew was sent outside ; we 
locked the safe. Your nephew then came in, 
got down on his toes before the safe, un- 
locked and opened the door, and sat there 
poised upon his toes gazing into the safe, and 
cudgelling his memory to force it to recall 
what he had done at midnight. As you 
know, the safe consists of two compartments, 
the top filled with documents. Suddenly 
your nephew gasped out an exclamation of 
piercing joy. He thrust his hand in among 
the documents ; he pulled out the missing 
Treasury notes, every solitary one of them." 

" From where, compelled by your mes- 
merizing friend's will, he had placed them ? " 

" Not so. From where / had placed them. 
At midnight Harry had not touched the 
money. In the morning I opened the safe 
with my key and I hid the money among the 
documents, but took care to leave the corner 
of a Treasury cote showing in such a position 



Setting the Detective ^ Puzzle 

that anyone down on his toes before the open 
safe was all but certain to detect it.* 1 

" And Harry ? ' J 

" Sir Honor, Harry has had the lesson of a 
lifetime. There will be no more dereliction 
of duty on his part. He rushed into his 
private office with tears streaming down his 

then he learned with ineffable relief that 
he was no more than a fooL But, better 
still, he realizes that if he continues to be 
a fool he may one day be a criminal. 
He is too sound, too sane, too considerate 
of those who love him to run risks 
ever again." 

1 You stole the office soap,' 
Temporary started violently 

cheeks and sobs coming from his very heart. 
Ike reaction was overwhelming. " 

Sir Honor's eyes moistened so that he saw 
but dimly. " The dear boy — the dear boy f Ji 
he kept repeating* 

" Something drastic was called for to 
make the young man cut out his failing. 
That sometliing has been done. For a 
whole hour he thought himself a criminal; 

Sir Honor arose, forgetting all about the 
sham sprain which had furnished him with an 
excellent excuse for staying away from the 
office while The Temporary was given his 
chance to experiment oil Harry. He went 
to his desk and drew a cheque for one 
hundred guineas, 

Norbert Phillips, private detective, stood 
to receive it. 


James Barr 

2 47 

" You have earned the money I promised 
you. I believe you have accomplished jour 
purpose, our purpose* I thank you — but, 
mind you, had I known the means you were 
to use to break my nephew 7 of his bad, his 
dangerous habit, I doubt whether I would 
have had the pluck to sanction them/' 

TWO weeks passed, and Armstrong stood 
before Sir Honor in the latter *s private 
' " You have come to tell me whether you 
do or do not consider yourself deserving of 
promotion. Well ? " 

" At the time I did think I was— — " 

now ? " 

N Now I 
think not, 
Sir Honor/* 

The young 
man was in 
doleful con* 
trast with 
the self-sat- 
isfied self of 
his that had 
entered Sir 
Honor's pri- 
vate resi- 
dence but a 

Sir Honor 
spoke in 
buoyant en- 
couragement . 
' I'm not 
so sure, Arm- 
strong, After 
all, there's 
due to one 
who tries to 
be faithful, 
You tried. 
You were 
like a student 
who tackles 
a tricky sum 
in the right 
slip in the 

he not entitled 

asserted Sir Honor* abruptly* The 
and raised hi* brows in surprise. 1 * 

" Thank you, Sir Honor, for the cheque, 
I think the means were justified. I believe 
our object is accomplished. Now may I 
ask you how T you came to know about the 
soap and the key ? IJ 

4i Ah 1" bantered the baronet. " What 
is a detective for but to clear up mysteries ? 
I have set you one all your own to unravel. 
Good day/' 

Digitized by ^lOOSlc 

way, but makes 
working out. Is 
to marks for construing correctly ? 
I think so. And I am adding one 
sovereign a week to your salary/' 
" Sir Honor, I am most grateful/' 
Sir Honor nodded recognition of the 
gratitude, then, lifting his eyebrows, re- 
marked : — 

11 You look as though there was still a 

something ■" 

"Well, sir," grinned Armstrong, "there 
is a something that puzzles me. There's 
the impression of the key on the 
soap I " 

M Ah/' said Sir Honor, waving his hand 
towards the door, '* this is a world full of 
unsolved puzzles. And they make Life such 
a diverting mosiatel'fronn 








OE QUINNEY, being 

s ome what o f a pagan , 
said afterwards that 
the D'Avenant mys- 
tery had been solved by 
coincidence, but Susan, 
his wife, brought up in a cathedral town, 
thought otherwise. 

The famous dealer happened to be staying 
at D J Avenant Old Hall when Lord D'Avenant 
was found dead in his library. Lord 
D'Avenant was better known as Mr. Nicholas 
Davenant, the head of a great firm trading 
with China and the Malay Archipelago. He 
bought D'Avenant Old Hall— and assumed 
the apostrophe of the ancient family— before 
his elevation to the peerage. Unkind persons 
affirmed that he was not even remotely of kin 
to the Simon Pure D'Avenants and that he 
had paid an immense sum for his title. This 
was untrue, Nicholas D avenant was the 
great-grandson of a D'Avenant, and his 
peerage was given to him because he had 
used his immense influence in China to 
obtain for the British Government certain 
important concessions. 

Nevertheless Lord D'Avenant was known 
and feared in China, where he had spent 
most of his life, as u Old Nick." 

He called upon Quinney shortly after he 
had bought Old Hall. 

-i It's full of oak," he told the dealer. 

Quinney's eyes brightened. He loved oak. 

"In shocking condition! ri said his lordship, 

Copyright, 1921 



I want you 

Quinney became alert* 
He had discovered a pro* 
cess by which painted # 
stained, and over- var- 
nished panels could be 
restored to their right 
colour and texture, 
to take it in hand at 


Quinney chuckled and rubbed his hands. 

11 With great pleasure, my lord," 

" Also I have some very valuable Oriental 
china, a collection of forty years, made on 
the spot — in China, I mean — and you must 
find me the right cabinets." 

Quinney nodded. He had heard of the 
Davenant collection, but he had never seen 

"My collection is unique," said Lord 
D'Avenant. " I own one piece, Mr. Quinney, 
which is of a deep- blue colour, very thin and 
ntact, It rings like a beautiful glass. Small 
fragments of this rare porcelain are set as 
jewels and treasured as such. My bit is 
more than a thousand years old." 

Quinney licked his lips, as he replied, 
solemnly : — 

" It will be a privilege, my lord, to examine 
such a gem." 

But, alone with Susan, he confessed that 
he was not favourably impressed by his new 
patron's appearance, 

" Looks like an old vulture, Susie/' 

" Looks ain't your strong point, Joe," 
remarked his wife, 

Quinney assented cheerfully, staring at 

by Horace Annexe? VachelS. 


Horace Annesley Vachell 


his hands, of which he was slightly vain, 
not without reason. 

" Talons he has, my girl. And such a 
beak ! But — brains ! More than his right- 
ful share of them. A very cunning and evil 
old bird!" 

" You have nothing to do with him, 

He laughed, and told her what had passed 
at the first interview. 

" To get good pay for doing such work, 
Susie, makes me forget that a black east wind 
is blowing." 

Susie shook her head mournfully. 

" If he's a wicked old sinner, I say — walk 
not in the ways of such." 

" Lord love you ! " retorted the autocrat 
of Soho Square, "if I did business with 
saints only, me and you, dearie, would be 
in the poor-house." 


WITHIN a fortnight Quinney and his 
craftsmen -were comfortably lodged 
in the ancient, house. 

Lord D'Avenant received him on arrival. 

A housemaid ushered the dealer into the 
library, which was on the first floor and the 
least attractive of many fine reception-rooms. 
The noble owner explained why he had 
chosen it. 

. , " It's next my bedroom, Mr. Quinney. 
I'm not a sound sleeper. I do a lot of work 
when I can't sleep. Nice view — hey ? " 

. An oriel window commanded the main 
approach. An immense desk was littered 
with papers and queer packages. Quinney 
noticed at once a faint odour like that of 
sandal- wood. The atmosphere was warm 
and slightly stuffy. Having opened the 
casement, Lord D'Avenant carefully closed it, 
and indicated a chair. 

" Sit you down, Mr. Quinney." 

Quinney sat down, but his host, arrayed 
in a gorgeous dressing-gown, paced restlessly 
up and down, talking volubly. 

" We have the place to ourselves. No 
flunkeys as yet. My own servant, and a 
maid or two. Nice and quiet — hey ? " 

" Very quiet, my lord." 

" One ought to be able to sleep here. Ever 
He awake, tossin' about ? " 

" Not often." 

" Beastly — perfectly beastly. But I was 
always a bit of an owl." 

" You look owlish," thought Quinney. 
He had a vision of his host flitting here and 
there by night, ready to pounce upon any- 
thing and everything. As a purchaser he 
had, indeed, pounced upon everything at 
D'Avenant, taking over nearly all the 
furniture and pictures and some rare plate. 

" You and I, Mr. Quinney, must make this 
place a museum.'' 

Quinney rubbed his hands at the delightful 

" There isn't much rubbish, my lord." 

" I take your word for that. I have expert 
knowledge of Oriental porcelain and Chinese 
lacquer. How long will you be over the 
oak ? " 

" That is quite impossible to say." 

" I shall be here." 

' You are retiring from business, my 

" Retiring ? I ? Not much ! But I can 
attend to my business from this room. It's 
a funny business, Mr. Quinney. I deal with 
funny people. I lived my life in China. 
I can pass for a Chink. Not much making-up 

" You'll never pass for a D'Avenant," 
thought Quinney. 

" I shall give you a cup of tea presently. 
I dare say you'll want to look round by 
yourself. See you later." 

Quinney got up, nodded, and went out. 

Alone, he wandered through the house, 
and then into the park. The village lay half 
a mile away, and he remembered that he had 
forgotten to bring tobacco. His mixture, 
however, could be bought at any inn. He 
decided to walk into the village. 

Very soon he was passing through fine 
wrought-iron gates which, somewhat to his 
astonishment, had to be unlocked. A rosy- 
cheeked maiden informed him demurely that 
such were his lordship's orders. Quinney 

" No admittance — except on business, my 

" Yes, sir. That's it. The villagers are 
rather miffed about it. There is talk of a 
right-of-way. But his lordship won't hear 
of that." 

In the village more information was gleaned 
from the Boniface of the D'Avenant Arms. 
His lordship kept himself to himself, being 
rarely seen outside his own park. All the 
same, he subscribed liberally to local charities 
and paid high wages. Everybody hoped and 
believed that he would turn out to be an 
up-to-date and enlightened landlord of a 
much-impoverished estate. 

Quinney strolled back to the house in time 
for tea, served in egg-shell china cups, 
infused for one minute and three-quarters 

" You have never tasted such tea as that, 
Mr. Quinney ? " 

Quinney admitted that he had not a palate 
for the rarest growths of tea, adding that it 
would be a pleasure to drink hot water out of 
such cups. 

" Loot," said his host, in a high-pitched 
voice. " I annexed 'em from a mandarin 
under sentence of death. I've picked up a 

,oto W&W Michigan 


The D'Avenant Mystery 

He began to talk about porcelain of the 
earlier dynasties. Quinney was delighted. 
Thm the old fellow showed him a couple of 
specimens, masterpieces of handicraft — a 
five-clawed dragon of the Ming period that 
probably had belonged to an emperor, and a 
superlative kylin. 

" My best things are in the bedroom. 
Like to see 'em ? " 

The old man jumped up with the agility 
of a monkey, waving prehensile fingers. 

** I'm going to surprise you," he said. 

Quinney followed him into tfie bedroom. 
Against the wall was a big steel cage. Lord 
D'Avenant touched a button, and imme- 
diately the cage was brilliantly illuminated. 

Quinney gasped. 

The cage was full of magnificent pieces of 
Chinese porcelain. The mere sight of them 
seemed to rejuvenate Lord D'Avenant. He 
gripped Quinney's arm. 

" I have had two passions in my life : 
c Electing the best Chinese porcelain, and 
this place. Some fools think I'm not a true 
D'Avenant. But I am. I saw this house 
when I was a boy, and I said to myself : 
' I'll have that, one day.' Now — look at my 

" There's nothing better in the Salting 

Lord D'Avenant snorted. 

" There's nothing half so good." 

At the end of twenty rtiinutes, Quinney 
asked an interesting question : — 

" Are you insured against burglars, my 
lord ? " 

The old man cackled, rubbing together 
his thin brown fingers. Then he said, 
impressively : — 

" I can charge that cage and those steel 
shutters " — he pointed to the window — 
" with a high voltage that would electrocute 
any burglar who touched 'em. I've had to 
protect myself, Mr. Quinney, against 
enemies." Again he cackled, adding slyly, 
" It isn't very healthy to be an enemy of 

When they returned to the library, a 
Chinaman, in spotless white, was removing 
the teacups. He, presented the usual im- 
passive countenance to the " white devil " 
of a foreigner, but when he left the room 
his master spoke of him with something 
approximating to affection. 

" My servant, Quong. The most faithful 
fellow in the world. He has been with me 
for years. I saved his life ; saved him from 
a hideous death. He is devoted to me. He 
has stolen for me, Mr. Quinney. If I told 
him to kill you, he would nod his head, and 
your number would be up." 

This was said with an air of such conviction 
that Quinney experienced a thrill — the first 
of many. Quong reappeared. He moved 

slowly and silently. D'Avenant spoke to 
him twice, not in pidgin English, but in the 
Cantonese dialect. As he vanished again, 
the old man said, with finality : — - 

" He is the only man, Mr. Quinney, whom 
I trust unreservedly." 


FOR several days Quinney saw little of 
his new patron. Meals were served to 
the dealer in his own sitting-room. 
Twice he was invited to drink tea in the 
library. Upon the second occasion an inci- 
dent took place that must be recorded. A 
telephone on the big desk began to buzz. 

" London call," said Lord D'Avenant. 
" Please excuse me." 

As he spoke he picked up the instrument. 
Quinney happened to be facing him. By 
this time the dealer was accustomed to his 
queer host's ugliness, and kindly-disposed to 
an old man who had been consistently 
courteous to him. Suddenly, without warn- 
ing, the evil that was in the yellow, lined 
countenance seemed to disfigure it. Quinney 
hardly recognized a harsh, querulous voice. 

" Most certainly not. I refuse emphatic- 
ally to see the man. He knows why. Tell 
him to go to the devil." 

He replaced the instrument and turned to 

" If he goes to the devil, Mr. Quinney, he 
will find himself in congenial company. 
Let me give you another cup of tea." 

Quinney, tingling with curiosity, remained 
silent. Before he returned to his labours, 
Quong came in. Immediately Lord D'Ave- 
nant began to speak with marked agitation. 
And then, for the first time, the Oriental 
mask fell from the face of the Chinaman. 
Evidently he, too, was agitated. Quinney, 
of course, couldn't understand a word that 
was said. He divined that orders, very 
peremptory orders, were being given. Quong 
inclined his head, like a mandarin, and with- 
drew. So did Quinney. 


A WEEK later Lord D'Avenant was 

Quinney was half-dozing when a 
sharp knocking aroused , him at half-past 
seven in the morning. The elderly house- 
maid came in, much flustered. Quong had 
found his master's door locked — as usual — 
and could not get in. 

•'He thinks, sir, that something awful has 

Afterwards Quinney admitted to Susan 
that the same dismal apprehension laid a 
strangle-hold on his vitals. Within a minute 
he had joined the frightened servants in the 
passage. He strode to the door of the bed* 
room and hammered upon it. 


t Horace Annesley Vachell 


1 f Send for a gardener. We must break in . J ' 

A man appeared with a cold chisel and a 
hammer, but the stout oak door withstood 
for a time a severe assault. Quinney, ablaze 
with excitement, was the first to enter. 
I.ord D'Avenant was not in bed, but the 
sheets and coverlets were disarranged. The 
steel cage was brilliantly illuminated. Quin- 
ney held up his hand. 

<f Don't go near the cage or the windows ! J! 

He rushed into the library, where the 
lights wire burning. The library, like the 
bedroom, had been locked and bolted upon 
the inside of the door leading to the passage. 
The door between library and bedroom was 

Upon the Persian carpet, horribly 
contorted, clothed only in a dress- 
ing-gown and pyjamas, lay the old 

Qiunney touched his face, glancing 
at the fallen jaw and the glazed, 
open eyes, 

■ "He is dead," he 
said, solemnly. 
""Fetch a doctor. 
Nothing must 
be touched 
here till he 

The servants 


Lord D'Avenant touched a button, and immediately ihc aitfc wai brilliantly 



The D'Avenant Mystery 

filed out. Quinney went back into the bed- 
room and looked at the steel cage. With 
his amazing memory, he could almost swear 
that no precious object had been touched. 
He remarked, indeed, that one or two pieces 
had been added to the collection. The steel 
shutters guarding the windows were closed ; 
the room, save the bed, was in order. Then 
he went out, leaving the gardener in charge 
of the shattered door, with instructions to 
allow nobody to pass through it. Quong, 
standing apart from the maids, was moan- 
ing. Quinney went up to him, 

" Your master," he said, " must have felt 
ill in the night. He went into the library, 
and died." 

Quong gesticulated violently. 

" He velly strong man. He no die. I 
sabee. Man kill him. I tellee you, man kill 

The doctor arrived. He was able to 
affirm positively that death had taken place 
some hours previously. He stated also that 
he had examined Lord D'Avenant very 
thoroughly about a month before, having 
been called in to prescribe for insomnia. 

" A month ago my patient was as sound a 
man physically as a man of his age can be. 
He lived very temperately. We must send 
for the police at once." 

The local inspector was summoned, a man 
of intelligence and capacity. The doctor 
and he knew what to do, and did it. Quinney 
tried to choke down some breakfast. 

At about ten the inspector sent for him. 
Quinney found him and the doctor in the 

" Lord D'Avenant didn't die a natural 
death," said the inspector. " You have seen 
much of him of late, Mr. Quinney. Has he 
given you any indication whatever that life 
had become tedious to him ? " 

" Very much the contrary. I have never 
met a man of his age with such astonishing 

" Quite so. Dr. Merriman thinks that 
poison has been administered or self- 

M Not self -administered, inspector," said 
Quinney. " I'd stake my life on that." 

" We shall know more after the autopsy. 
The Chinese servant was the last to see his 
master alive. He left him at ten-thirty in 
his bedroom. It appears to have been a 
whim of the deceased to bolt himself in. 
The bedroom and library doors, communi- 
cating with the corridor, were locked and 
bolted on the inside. That is certain. The 
windows in each room were shuttered with 
steel shutters. Between the hours of eleven 
at night and seven in the morning a terrific 
voltage of electricity charges these shutters 
and the cage in the bedroom. It is humanly 
certain that no person could have entered 

either room through the window. The 
chimneys are very narrow. I have examined 
carefully the walls, the floors, and the ceil- 
ings. There is no evidence of any struggle. 
Snow fell during the night, but before ten. 
There are no footsteps in the snow below the 
windows. I am forced to believe that suicide 
is the only logical conclusion." 

" The Chinaman doesn't think so." 

" I can get nothing out of him." 

The doctor had to leave them. The 
inspector turned to Quinney. 

"I'm going back to the library. Will you 
come with me ? You might notice some- 
thing, anything, out of the ordinary." 

Quinney, no fool in dealing with his fel- 
lows, decided that the local inspector was 
free, at any rate, from what he termed 
" swank." He followed the official upstairs 
and into the library. The body had been 
-laid, beneath a sheet, upon the bed in the 
next room. Quinney stared about him, as 
the inspector said; quietly : — 

" It is possible, of course, that poison was 
administered before half-past ten ; but by 
whom ? There are poisons that act slowly. 
In that case, it is almost certain that Lord 
D'Avenant would have rung the bell and 
summoned assistance. The servants tell me 
that the Chinaman was devoted to his 

" Who saved him from what Lord D'Ave- 
nant described to me as a hideous death. He 
trusted Quong — I quote his words — un- 

"In a murder case, Mr. Quinney, we 
always look for motives. Such a man might 
have had enemies." 

Quinney repeated what Lord D'Avenant 
had said about his enemies. The inspector 
made a note. 

" How does the doctor know that he was 
poisoned ? " 

" There were indications unmistakable to 
a medical man." 

" Who switches on the electricity ? " 

" The electrician had his instructions. He 
switched on the current at ten-thirty, and 
turned it off, as usual, at a few minutes past 
seven. I know the man personally." 

" It must be suicide," said Quinney ; but, 
in his bones, he didn't believe it. 

HOME OFFICE experts conducted the 
post-mortem, confirming the conjecture 
of Dr. Merriman. 
At the coroner's inquest a verdict of 
suicide whilst of unsound mind was mercifully 
recorded. No other verdict seemed possible. 
No phial was found near the body. The 
experts testified that death had taken place 
after midnight, and that so violent a poison 
must have acted swiftly. Nobody could 


Horace Annesley Vachell 


have entered the room after half -past ten + 
Nevertheless the junior partners of Dave nan t 
and Co* testified against the hypothesis of 
suicide. But they had to admit that the 
late head of the firm was odd and eccentric, 
and that they knew him only slightly. 
Since his return from China business matters 
were left, for the most part, in the hands of 
the London representatives. Still, he had 
talked to them frequently of his plans for 
the future, All his long life, they admitted 
reluctantly, he had been a man of mystery. 

egregious public fastened themselves upon 
the faithful Quong, But from the moment 
when the Chinaman learnt that his master's 
possessions had passed to a kinsman, he 
seemed to transfer his allegiance to that 
younp man + 

" 4 I believe with you/' said Arthur D'Ave- 
nant, u that Quong is absolutely innocent. 
At the same time, I have a notion that we 
may find the murderer through him. How, 
I haven't the least idea/ 1 
Quong, unhappily, could only repeat, like 
a parrot, what he had said at first: — 
" Bad man killee boss. You see. 
Sometime we catch him." 

He seemed to be quite 

unconscious that he was 

^ being watched. 

The nine days* 

excitement over 

Quong gesticulated violently. 'He vellv strong man. He no die. Man kill him.* * 

To the immense surprise of everybody, 
and most of all to the individual concerned, 
Lord DAvenant left everything — apart from 
a few legacies and a substantial annuity to 
Quong- — to the impoverished kinsman from 
whom he had bought Old Hall. That lucky 
youth immediately instructed Quinney to 
proceed with the restoration -work. 

This young man, Arthur D'Avenant, said 
to Quinney at their first meeting ; — 

" There is a mystery here, Mr. Quinney/ 1 

Quinney agreed, 

" I sha'n't rest till it is solved." 
■ Meanwhile, inevitably, the suspicions of an 

the mystery died out when the experts were 
unable to find any trace of poison in the 
organs examined. Dr. Merriman said to 
Quinney :— 

" This may be a case of Oriental revenge. 
We know nothing of their methods/ 1 

At the inquest Quinney repeated what he 
had overheard Lord D'Avenant saying over 
the telephone. But this slightest of clues 
ended in moonshine, One of the London 
partners had been at the London end. He, 
in his turn, testified that the senior member 
of the firm refused consistently to see im- 


The D'Avenant Mystery 

whom he recalled perfectly, happened to be a 
sailor, once in Lord D'Avenant 's service 
and discharged from it. He was now on the 
high seas again. Thereupon Quong wa£ 
recalled to the witness-box. Did he know 
this sailor, or anything about him ? Quong, 
impassive as a graven image, shook his head, 
repeating : "Ino sabee," till he was invited 
to stand down. Quinney thought to himself : 
" I wonder if the Chink is lying." 


THE work of restoring the old oak went 
on slowly. Quinney returned to 
London and his Susan. The D'Ave- 
nant mystery was transmuted by the irony 
of things into an immense "ad." for the 
Soho Square establishment. All and sundry 
" popped in " to buy " bits " and ask for 
first-hand information. They got both. 
Susan became very unhappy. 

" Joe," she said, solemnly, " we're making 
money out of this horror ; yes, we are." 

"If you feel that \Vay, old dear," replied 
her lord, " you needn't spend any of it." 

" You ought to give all of it to my Waifs 
and Strays." 

" What a Waif and Stray you'd be, if it 
wasn't for me ! " 

Amongst these curious visitors came 
Benyon, the explorer. He drifted into the 
shop when Quinney happened to be reason- 
ably at leisure. Benyon beat no bushes. 
He said, curtly : — 

" I am one of the few men, Mr. Quinney, 
who knew the late Lord D'Avenant." 

Quinney pricked up his ears, as Benyon 
continued, placidly : — 

" I met him in China." 

" You know China, sir ? " 

" I know parts of China as — as well, shall 
I say ? — as Lord D'Avenant did. He was 
an assiduous collector. Where are his 
collections ? " 

" At D'Avenant Old Hall." 

" Could I see them ? This is my card." 
As Quinney stared blankly at an unfamiliar 
name, the great man added, quietly : "I 
think the secretary of the Royal Geographical 
Society will vouch for me." 

Quinney said, briskly : — 

" That's quite all right, Mr. Benyon. I 
happen to be going down to D'Avenant the 
day after to-morrow. Will you come with 
me ? " 

" With great pleasure." 

And so it came to pass that Benyon, by a 
mere coincidence, so said Quinney, met 
Arthur D'Avenant. Benyon was taken to 
the drawing-room, where two cabinets held 
all the finest bits. 

" I knew that they were wonderful," he 

Further talk soon convinced Quinney that 

an expert of the first rank was in his company, 
and he hastened, as usual, to profit by such 
an opportunity. 

" Some of these," said Benyon, " have a 
value quite apart from what they might 
fetch at Christie's as rare specimens of the 
earlier dynasties. I cannot imagine how 
D'Avenant got hold of them. Is there an 
illustrated catalogue of your treasures ? " 
He turned to the young man. 

" I am thinking of having one made — with 
Mr. Quinney's kind assistance. If — if you 
would help us, Mr. Benyon ? " 

Benyon said deliberately : — 

"If you wish to keep this collection intact, 
Mr. D'Avenant, don't have it catalogued ! " 

" Why ever not ? " 

" I can only say this out of knowledge 
which is, perhaps, my peculiar possession. 
No bribe, however great, would tempt me to 
carry that through Tibet." 

He indicated a highly-decorated Buddhist 

"It is sacrosanct," he added. " And so 
are these." 

" But we are not in Tibet, Mr. Benyon." 

" Happily, we are not in Tibet." 

No more was said at the moment. After 
a time, Benyon observed, abruptly : "It's 
an extraordinary thing to me that the late 
Lord D'Avenant committed suicide." 

Arthur D'Avenant turned startled eyes to 
Quinney, who shrugged his sturdy shoulders. 

Arthur D'Avenant dropped his pleasant 
voice to a whisper. 

" Mr. Quinney and I dispute the coroner's 
verdict. We — we believe that my prede- 
cessor was — murdered." 

" Yes," said Quinney. 

" Why have you come to that conclusion ? " 

The facts were recited. Benyon made no 
comment, listening very attentively, till the 
Chinaman was mentioned. 

" Is this man, Quong, here ? " 

" He is almost as devoted to me, Mr. 
Benyon, as he was to his master." 

" I — I should like to see him." 

Quong was summoned. Immediately 
Benyon addressed him in the Cantonese 
dialect. Quinney listened, mildly amused, 
to the strangest concatenation of astounding 
and inarticulate noise. But he noticed that 
Quong seemed pleased and less of an image. 
Evidently he accepted Benyon as a superior 
being. At a sign from the distinguished 
traveller he bowed and went out. 

" Well ? " murmured Arthur D'Avenant. 

Benyon smiled, rather inscrutably. 

" It is well," he said, with emphasis. " I 
was not quite easy when I heard there was a 
Cantonese here. This man was his master's 
slave. Probably he is now yours. Might I 
see the library ? It would be interesting — 
and possibly profitable — to attempt scire 


Horace Annesley Vachell 


reconstruction of this mysterious affair on 
the spot." 

" The library," said D'Avenant, " has been 
shut up. Nothing has been touched since 
the tragedy." 

They went upstairs. Later, Quinney told 
Susan that he was tingling with suppressed 
excitement. He expected, somehow, that 
something would happen, that the keen eyes 
of Benyon would detect what had escaped 
other eyes. He was not altogether dis- 

The room was unlocked and unshuttered. 

" He lay there," said Quinney, " with his 
knees arched. The pupils of the eyes were 
so turned up that only the whites were 

"Ah ! And nothing was found near him — 
no phial, no object that might be even re- 
motely considered — lethal ? " 

" Nothing." 

BENYON sat down, thinking furiously, 
half-closing his eyes. The others re- 
spected his silence. When, at length, 
he spoke, his voice seemed to float from a 
distance, as if, in fancy, he were far away. 

" I. told you that I knew Lord D'Avenant," 
he began. " But I didn't know him well. 
Probably nobody knew him well, except, 
possibly, the faithful Quong." 

" He was assuredly a very queer customer, 
Mr. Benyon." 

" From what knowledge I had of him," 
continued Benyon, " it is grossly improbable 
that such a man, familiar as he must have 
been with rare and subtle drugs, should have 
taken a violent poison that contorted the 
body almost beyond recognition. Had he 
wished to kill himself, he would have selected 
some preparation of opium, and slid out of 
life easily and painlessly. There is a subtle 
poison known to me that produces the effects 
you have described, Mr. Quinney, and which 
leaves no trace in the human system." 

" A poison known to you ? " 

" Did the doctors discover any puncture ? " 

" I don't think so." 

" The poison to which I refer is adminis- 
tered hypodermically. A slight prick from 
a needle suffices. It doesn't act immedi- 
ately. The prick may be so slight that the 
person pricked may be unconscious of it. 
The mark left would be hardly perceptible 
except to a very trained eye. The poison 
I mean has some of the characteristics of 
that extraordinary South American alkaloid, 
wourali. It paralyzes action and heightens 
sensation. The sufferer undergoes tortures 
and is unable to move or cry out." 

" Horrible ! " ejaculated Quinney. 

Benyon's eyes turned to the desk. 

" What are those packages ? " 

" Thev were carefully examined/' said 


Quinney. " They hold samples — odds and 

"You can examine them, Mr. Benyon," 
suggested D'Avenant. 

Benyon did so, moving thin brown fingers 
delicately. He touched many common- 
place objects with extreme care. 

" You are on the track of something ? " 
exclaimed the young man. 

Benyon paused. 

" This is my opinion," he said slowly. " I 
agree with you that Lord D'Avenant was 
murdered. Probably the police thought as 
much, and discreetly kept their thoughts 
to themselves. Scotland Yard dislikes un- 
solved mysteries. I can imagine that the 
verdict of the coroner's jury was not dis- 
pleasing. I take it that the cleverest wits 
were baffled. Nobody entered this room or 
the bedroom. The late lord was alone when 
he died, alone when he was murdered. We 
fall back upon hypothesis. I submit that 
he was poisoned hypodermically. It is con- 
ceivable that an enemy, unable to get at him 
in any other way, sent him, by post, some 
tiny, insignificant article that a collector 
would be likely to handle. In handling it 
he met his death. I am looking for that 
insignificant article." 

He went on looking, but he didn't find it. 
The same disappointment awaited him in 
the bedroom. Finally, he stood in front of 
the steel cage, now empty. 

" You say this was lit up when you broke 
into the bedroom, Mr. Quinney ? " 

" Yes." 

" We may infer that the unhappy man, 
perhaps unable to sleep, got out of bed " 

" He had been in bed." 

" We may imagine that he got out of bed, 
and was gloating over his treasures ? " 

" I often do that," admitted Quinney. 

" Then he passed into the library and 
began a letter. Whilst he was writing he 
may have felt the first effect of the poison. 
In less than a minute he would be paralyzed. 
In ten more minutes he would be dead." 

" God bless my soul ! " exclaimed Quinney. 

Benyon continued, imperturbably : — 

" I should like to call your attention to 
another hypothesis. You may take it from 
me that some of the porcelain in the drawing- 
room is of supreme historical and religious 
interest. I can't convey to you the fanatic 
attachment that certain objects inspire in 
their possessors. The happiness and pro- 
sperity, perhaps, of a remote community 
may be actually centred in one ugly little 
figure. If such a figure were stolen from its 
guarded shrine, the devotees would stick at 
nothing, at nothing, to recover it. The quest 
might extend over years." 

Arthur D'Avenant looked slightly uneasy. 

" Let us suppose that an agent, the last 



The D'Avenant Mystery 

Quhiney switched on the electrics at the door 
In front of one of the eabinefca— — 

man you might suspect, was instructed to 
recover such an object known to be in the 
possession of a man who guarded it like a 
Crown jewel, Would he hesitate to kill 
that nun, if he thought that his successor 
might guard it less carefully ? " 

* This/* said Arthur D'Avenant, with a 
hard laugh, "is getting near the knuckle." 
Ben yon delivered the last thrust, 
"I "brieve/' he said slowly, "that the 
murderer of Lord D'Avenant will come here. 
You need not seek him. I should be sorely 
tempted, knowing what I do, to let him help 

himself and go his 
way. ,r 

"Never I" said 

Ben yon smiled and 
spread out his hands, 

" It has been a most 
interesting afternoon,'* 
he murmured. 


/-\ NANT, being a 
young and 
healthy man, soon dis- 
missed from an active 
mind the apprehen- 
sions excited by the 
explorer. He hap- 
pened to be in love ; 
approaching marriage with a charming girl 
engrossed his attention. 
And nothing happened 1 
Quinney finished the oak. He was now 
regarded affectionately by Arthur D*Avenant 
as a friend, and as such heartily welcome to 
come and go as he pleased. 

He went down, one week-end, with a 
superb Cromwellian table, to find a bride at 
home after her honeymoon. Quinney had 
met the young lady before. He told Susan 
that she was real porcelain, and prettily 

Arthur D'Avenant led him aside. 
* I J m worried about Quong, Mr. Quinney.** 
" Ho I What's up ? " 
4 He is — at all hours of the night, I can 
get nothing out of him but this. He tells 
me that the ' bad man * is coming. It seems 
to be mere intuition, but these Chinks are 
uncanny. For instance, I wasn't expecting 
you, but before I got your wire yester- 
day, Quong said to me : * Quinnee — he 
come, You see. 1 And here you are p 

Quinney took this seriously. 
14 This beats me, Mr. D'Avenant After 
our talk with Mr, Ben yon I began to 
w T onder whether Quong had stayed on 
with you because he hoped that the ' bad 
man ' would come back." 
11 Quite likely/' admitted D'Avenant. 
'* By the way/ 1 observed the bridegroom, 
" before I brought Aline here I went over 
every blighting object in those two rooms — a 
very tedious job. If Ben yon 's hypothesis 
holds any water, it would be too awful if 
my darling girl picked up the thing that did 
the mischief. However, the two rooms are 
still locked up/' 

" Quite sound/' said Quinney. 
" The infernal thing couldn't be anywhere 
else, could it ? " 

" No/' sai^riQbiflhfelJQmThen, not quite 


Horace Anneslev Vachell 


sincerely, but moved by the anxiety of the 
young man, he said, lightly : — 

" I wouldn't worry, Mr. D'Avenant. Mr. 
Benyon was just guessing. A bitter enemy 
may have had his revenge. If so, he'll not 
bother you," 

11 I tell myself that, but I'm not quite sure 
about it." 

" Does Mrs. D'Avenant know what we 
know ? n 

"No; she accepts the general verdict/* 

Presently Quinney got Quong alone, and 
took bis arm. 

" What's wrong with you, old chap ? " 

Quong said, excitedly : — - 

*' Bad man come velly soon. I sabee. 
You bet ! " 

" But how do you know ? " 

Quong's pidgin English became involved. 

" He — sailor-man. He come back. He 
wantee something. I no sabee what, Allee 
same, he come/* 

§i And then ? " 

Quong burst out laughing, 
not a pleasant laugh, 

H He catchee — me. . You 

"1 hop I shall/' 
said Quinney* 

Over their wine, 
after Mrs, D'Ave- 
nant had left the 
Arthur spoke 
again of Quong, 

" He is scaring 
the maids with his 
nocturnal prowl- 

"Let him 
prowl ! " 

" It's the deuce 
to keep maids in 
the country ; and 
this house is so 

" I have faith 
in Quong/' said 

That very night, his faith was 
abundantly justified, 

Quong tapped upon his bed- 
room door about an hour after 
midnight, Quinney let him in. 
He hardly recognized the man. 
He seemed to be vibrating with 
excitement, as he whispered r — 

* - Bad man — he come. Now 
I catch him ! " 

11 With your naked hands ? " exclaimed 

Quong looked at his hands and smiled. 

" You likee come too ? "-^ 

For answer, Quinney slipped a coat over 

his pyjamas, Then he picked up a service- 
able poker. Quong smiled again. 

** I catch him ! You see." 

He seemed to float out of the room — a 
white wraith. Quinney followed. Moon- 
light illumined the long corridor, thickly 
carpeted, Quong sped down the stairs 
and into the great hall. He paused, finger 
upon lip, opposite the door of the drawing- 

Noiselessly the Chinaman turned the 
handle of the door, and vanished. Quinney 
hesitated for one brief instant. He could 
see that the drawing-room was not altogether 
in darkness. The swiftness of the Oriental's 
movements disconcerted him. He followed 
slowly, on tiptoe. As he entered he heard 
a crash. Instantly, Quinney switched on 
the electrics at the door. In front of one 
of the cabinets, two men lay upon the 
parquet. Silence succeeded the crash, and 

two men lay upon ths parquet. Quinney realized 

that Quong was strangling the ' bad man/ 

then a curious wheezing sound. Quinney 
realized that Quong was strangling the 
" bad man/ 1 

He flung himself upon Quong, trving to 


The D'Avenant Mystery 

Quinney had strong muscles, but he had to 
strain them to the uttermost. 

Suddenly the hold relaxed. 

" God ! You've killed him ! " 

Quong laughed, and stood up. Then, 
bending swiftly, he ran his fingers over the 
man's body. He held up a pistol. 

" I tellee you, he velly bad man. I 

Very slowly, the prostrate man recovered 
consciousness. Quinney left him alone. 

" Give me the pistol," he said to Quong, 
" and go you and fetch your boss." 

Quong nodded gleefully and slipped away. 

Quinney saw that the glass door of the 
bigger cabinet had been broken open. Upon 
a table stood the small figure that Benyon 
was not anxious to carry through Tibet. 

" You lie perfectly still," said Quinney. 

The man was gasping convulsively, but 
he lay crumpled up just where he had fallen. 

D'Avenant came in, followed by the still 
smiling Quong. 


QUINNEY may be trusted to finish the 
story in his own fashion, as he told it 
to the awe-stricken Susan some 
twenty-four hours later. 

" He was a queer cove, my girl ; a dark, 
seafaring man, with gold rings in his ears. 
He could speak to Quong in his own lingo, 
and did so when he got back his powers of 
speech. They went at it hammer-and-tongs, 
jabbering like monkeys. We had his pistol, 
and we were three to one. Perhaps we 
ought to have tied him up till the police came. 
Anyway, we didn't. I told you that the 
door of the cabinet was open. Upon the 
middle shelf stood a small Kang-He god, 
villainously ugly, coloured in bright tur- 
quoise. The mouth of the little beast was 
wide open. I particularly noticed it when 
the pieces were removed from the steel cage, 
because it wasn't up to the mark of the other 
bits. But it was in the cage, and we sup- 
posed that it was intended to be put there. 
But, oddly enough, I didn't remember seeing 

it when his lordship first showed me his 
treasures. Quong says that it must have 
been acquired in England, because he knows 
all the bits that came from China. As I was 
saying, Susie, we were taking a bit of an easy 
before sending for the police, and I suppose 
our man knew that the game was up. He 
jumped for the cabinet and grabbed the 
bright blue god or devil. And I saw him 
jab his thumb hard into the little beast's 

" Well, my dear, we had to send for a 
doctor before we sent for the police. When 
they came our man was dead, drawn up and 
contorted, too. He died game, I must say. 
And when we got the blue monster out of 
his hand he owned up. He had worked for 
Lord D'Avenant in China. He had helped to 
steal the little figure from some Buddhist 
shrine. Afterwards, I dare say, he tried 
blackmail. Anyway, he got the sack. He 
boasted to us that he had sworn to kill his 
former master, and he had the devilish art of 
knowing how to do it. Collectors always 
stick their fingers into holes, just to see if the 
inside is polished properly. Bad bits are left 
in the rough. Inside the mouth of the blue 
beast he fixed a needle coated with that 
devilish poison. Mr. Benyon was right from 
first to last. Having killed his enemy, the 
man attempted to steal the figure. He knew 
what price he would get for it in China. 
That's about all." 

" Mercy me ! " exclaimed Susan. " This 
comes of worshipping sticks and stones. 
What a lesson for you, Joe ! " 

" I don't steal 'em," said Quinney. 

" I wouldn't trust you," sighed Susan, 
" nor any other collector." 

" Mr. D'Avenant," concluded Quinney, 
wiping a heated brow, " is a-going to send 
back the little mischief-maker to China. 
Mr. Benyon will attend to that. And now, 
Susie, if you've no objections, I shall take a 
glass of sherry." 

" I do object," said Susan, " but you'll do 
it just the same." 

And he did. 




The Adventure of the Mazarin Stone, 



In next Mo 

onth's « 


Strand MagTa-iiee.' 





IN a world of kaleidoscopic and catas- 
trophic changes it would be natural 
to expect some enfeeblement, if not 
a total extinction, of the human 
passion for " First Nights/' Strange to 
say, it seems as strong as ever. The time is 
out of joint, our drama is at its lowest ebb, 
but an eager curiosity still impels people to 
first performances of new plays. They are 
mainly the same people — the old gang, if I 
may apply the politician's phrase without 
disrespect — only a little balder, a little more 
rotund, a little more highly rouged, than they 
were. In the course of three or more decades 
{let me leave it discreetly vague), 1 have seen 
the same first-nighters pass from blooming 
youth to ripe maturity and withered age. I 
have offered them the same melancholy 
spectacle. But we all try to put a good face 
on it. What I cannot understand is why 
they keep it up. Theatrical critics go to 
first nights because they must. But the 
other people, who are not on compulsory 
service, surely might give themselves a rest ? 
But it seems also there is a distinct tribe 
of second - night ers. I have never been 
allowed to see them myself, but there is 


positive evidence on the point from Mr. Max 
BeeTbohm. He tells us (in M Seven Men ") 
that, when he was dramatic critic for the 
Saturday Review, " weary of meeting the 
same lot of people again and again at first 
nights, 1 had recently sent a circular to the 
managers, asking that I might have seats 
for second nights instead/ 1 Thereupon he 
made a strange discovery. M I found that 
there existed as distinct and invariable a lot 
of second -nighters as of first-nighters. The 
second - nighters were less ' showy ' ; but 
then they came more to see than to be seen, 
and there was an air that I liked of earnest- 
ness and hopefulness about them. I used 
to write a good deal about the future of the 
British drama, and they, for their part, used 
to think and talk a good deal about it. 
Though second -nighters do come to see, they 
remain rather to hope and pray." While, as 
I say, I really know nothing about these 
second - nighters, I fully recognize that 
theatrical critics can do no less than regard 
them with affectionate respect, for manifestly 
they are the people who have waited for the 
" notices." They must be one's (or some* 
bodv elMft's) " gentle readers," 



Some First Nights 

, It has been periodically proposed that 
• - first nights " shall become " second nights " 
— I mean, that the first night or premiere 
should be preceded, on the Parisian plan, by 
a ripStition gintrale or pub ic dress rehearsal, 
which the Press should attend, only holding 
over its " notices " for a day. I don't think 
our theatrical managers will ever be so 
guileless as to fall in with this scheme. To 
name only one objection, it would give the 
critics time to think. Anyone who compares 
the " notices " in the dailies with those in 
the weeklies or the monthlies will at once see 
what that means. The more belated the 
criticism, the less kindly it is sure to be. 
Time to think is time to spot weak places 
and to pick holes, time to cool down from 
your first fine careless rapture, time to think 
out what can be said on the other side. I 
know, for I have been, before now, a daily, 
weekly, monthly, and quarterly critic of the 
same plays, and found myself getting more 
and more captious at every remove. I am 
all, then, for our present first-night system. 
I will cheerfully go on seeing my old friends 
(and letting my old friends see me) exhibiting 
deeper and deeper marks of the ravages of 
time. Besides, some first nights are really 
worth attending, interesting for their own 
sake, more interesting than any other nights. 
A few are even memorable. 

MY mind goes back to a first night of 
nearly thirty years ago, at the St. 
James's, a May night in 1893, which was 
one of the most notable premieres in the his- 
tory of the modern English stage. The early 
'nineties mark a period in that history of con- 
siderable ferment. The more intelligent — or 
the more sanguine — lovers of the drama were, 
lik2 Mr. Beerbohm's second-nighters, hoping 
and praying. Several of Ibsen's plays had 
lately been performed in London and had 
been a revelation if they were not to be, as 
some confidently predicted, a revolution. The 
work of a master-mind and, what is more, of 
a born dramatist, they offered people weary 
of the old theatrical inanities a new sensation 
— food for thought about life, the social 
fabric, and themselves. Their influence was 
by no means purely aesthetic — and here was 
the secret of their vogue as well as of their 
early passing — they " rhymed to " so many 
social and ethical aspirations and currents of 
their time which violently interested people 
to whom the dramatic virtues of a play as a 
play, its purely artistic merits, were of minor 
or no importance. " Ibsenism " connoted 
many other things besides appreciation of a 
new and great dramatic artist and overflowed 
the boundaries of the playhouse, bearing on 
its flood a miscellaneous mob of feminists, 
socialists, revolutionists, all the cranks. But 
this notable influence on the theatre it had, 

that it made playgoers, whether they were 
" Ibsenites " or not, dissatisfied with the old 
formula and the old mechanism ; a new 
spirit, a new demand was abroad. It was in 
this mood, conscious or unconscious, eagerly 
responsive or sullenly recalcitrant, that the 
audience met on that May night for the 
curtain to rise on " The Second Mrs. Tan- 
que ray." Mr. Pinero had delighted the town 
with a series of brilliant farces, illustrated by 
the comic genius of Mrs. John Wood, Arthur 
Cecil, John Clayton, and poor Rose Norreys. 
In " The Profligate " he had given a taste 
of different quality, serious, sternly moral, 
George Eliot-ish. But these were pre- 
Ibsenian ; what could he do for the new 
spirit, the new demand ? 


What he did was, first of all, to provide a 
great part and an overwhelming personal 
success for a new actress. I remember 
Mrs. Patrick Campbell's earliest appearances 
at the Adelphi in a melodrama, " The 
Trumpet Call " (oh, the embarrassing acci- 
dent to her dress on the first night !), and an 
absurd Cromwell play, and I am glad to 
remember, also, wondering in print why no 
West-end manager snapped up this precious 
treasure. But I might have been easy : she 
was soon snapped up by George Alexander. 
What a thrill went through the house when 
this beautiful, contralto-voiced, fascinatingly 
perverse creature stepped into Aubrey Tan- 
queray's dining-room, emptied of its guests, 
and pounced on the dessert with, " I love 
fruit, when it's expensive " I It would be 
tiresome now to follow her through all the 
sudden changes of a piece familiarly known to 
every playgoer. At the fall of the curtain 
she had established herself as a new histrionic 
" value," a new and potent instrument of 
interpretation, a new stage temperament. 

But the play was something new, too. 
Not in its main motif. That was but a 
variant of what Paul Bourget has so well 
called " Redemptorism " — the attempt to 
redeem, to rehabilitate, a fallen woman, and 
its outcome — familiar enough in other plays 
of Augier and Dumas fils. But the realistic 
method, the absolute veracity of the thing, 
was new ; the air of " inevitability " was 
new ; the English social atmosphere was new. 
It was a serious moralistic treatment of what 
had hitherto been a romantic theme, just 
the treatment for which a public prepared, 
disillusioned with romance, by Ibsen was 
secretly yearning. I must not be understood 
as identifying Pinero's art with Ibsen's. 
The Norwegian master had his own supreme 
gift of limitless quasi-poetic suggestion. The 
Englishman was positive, practical, prosaic 
— and also had his supreme gift of dramatic 
story-telling. But he had been quick to see 


A. B. Walkley 


the change wrought in the public temper by 
the other, had perhaps experienced a spiritual 
change himself, and hence came forth that 
new thing, " Mrs. Tanqueray." The cheery 
that went up when the curtain fell ! We 
had visions of a New Heaven and a New 
Earth, These excessive emotions go natu- 
rally with the high temperature of first nights. 
They do not last. Life could not be lived in 
a perpetual whirlwind 
of enthusiasm. But, 
putting the affair at 
its lowest and its cool - 
est, it is certain that 
on that first night the 
English drama was 
" hatched again/* in 
Mrs + Peyser's phrase, 
i4 and hatched dif- 
ferent. " 

AN angry crowd, 
with whatever 
excuse of a prac- 
tical grievance, is an 
ugly thing . Bu t w hat 
is even more odd than 
ugly is an English 
crowd angry over a 
question of literary 
taste ! I am thinking 
of another first night 
at the St. James's, 
in January, 1895, 
when Hen ry J ames , 
gentlest, most retiring 
of men, was brutally 
hooted from the stage 
because the gallery 
had found his " Guy 
Domville " too deli- 
cate a morsel for their 
coarse palates. " Guy 
Domville ,J has never 
been published. 
(George Alexander 
^ent me a privately 
printed copy at the 
t i me , bu t s t i pula t ed 
for its return.) Its 
theme was remote 
from every kind of 
" actuality "—an epi- 
sode in the eighteenth 
century history of an 
old English Catholic family, The charm 
was wholly in the treatment, in the subtle 
u psychology " and dainty, rather alembi- 
cated, style of Henry James — an acquired 
taste at the best, and a taste never perhaps 
to be acquired by average galleryites. 

There were leading parts for Alexander 
himself and Miss Marion Terry, and, if I 
remember aright, Miss Irene Vanbrugh made 


*' / love fruit, when tf-s expensive ? " 
Mrs, Patrick Campbell as Paula Tanqueray, 

one of her early appearances in an ancillary 
r$le, But it was caviare to the general, and 
how the general signified its distaste at the 
cur tain -fall the author himself described in a 
letter to his brother William, "In three 
words the delicate, picturesque, extremely 
human and extremely artistic little play was 
taken profanely by a brutal and ill-disposed 
gallery which had shown signs of malice 
prepense from the first 
and which, held in hand 
till the end, kicked up an 
infernal row at the fall of 
the curtain. There fol- 
lowed an abominable 
quarter of an hour during 
which all the forces of 
civilization in the house 
waged a battle of the most 
gallant, prolonged, and 
sustained applause with 
the hoots and jeers and 
catcalls of the roughs, 
whose roars (like 
those of a cage of 
beasts at some in- 
fernal ' Zoo ') were 
only exacerbated 
(as it were) by the 
conflict. * . . The 
thing fills me with 
horror for the abys- 
mal vulgarity and 
brutality of the 
theatre and its 
regular public 
which, God knows, 
I have loved in- 
tensely even when 
working (from motives 
as * pure ' as pecuniary 
motives can be) 
against it/' This last 
wild cry of pain must 
be forgiven to a man 
who had been pub- 
licly insulted. The 
real truth is, Henry 
James still continued 
to cherish a certain 
theatrical ambition, 
and was always re- 
luctant to persuade 
himself that his pecu- 
liar qualities could 
never have a chance in that quarter, Ypars 
afterwards the Forbes -Robert sons produced 
his '* High Bid," but it had little more than a 
success of esteem- M The Outcry " and " The 
Reprobate," both seen since his death, were 
successes merely of curiosity. In his later 
days he was not infrequently to be met in 
the stalls at London first nights. The stalls, 
were his prop?! - place, not the stage, 



Some First Nights 

As I am picking out first nights with some- 
thing exceptional to mark them, I pass over 
Irving's in the great Lyceum days, Tree's at 
the Haymarket and His Majesty's, and most 
of Alexander's at the St. James's. These 
were, of course, all brilliant social gatherings, 
and I leave it to the fashion reporters to do 
justice to them. Nor must I touch upon 
musical occasions, though I remember well 
the excitement that thrilled the Savoy 
audiences over the Gilbert and Sullivan 
productions and, particularly, the waxing 
and waning of Sir Arthur's eyeglass. 


Coming to more recent times, I find a 
notable first night at the opening of the New 
Theatre, New York, some ten or a dozen 
years ago. This theatre had been built by a 
group of millionaires, and was supposed in 
advance to be the last word in theatrical 
architecture. Invited by the founders to 
the inaugural ceremonies, I went over in the 
Adriatic, stayed for five crowded day of 
overwhelming hospitality, theatre - going, 
sight-seeing, and came back in the same 
ship. The new venture started with im- 
mense iclat. New York was going to have 
the theatre of the world. Mr. Ames, illus- 
trious among theatrical " producers," was 
to be its director ; my old friend John Corbin 
(once upon a time at Oxford), its literary 
adviser ; the company was to be headed by 
Edward Sot hern and Julia Marlowe. There 
was a formal opening ceremony in the after- 
noon, when I met among the people gathered 
together on the stage not only Brander 
Mathews, whom I had long known, but, for 
the first time, the white-haired veteran, W. 
D. Howells. After Mr. Pierpont Morgan had 
formally handed over the key of the building, 
there were two of the best speeches I have 
ever heard from a stage-platform, one by 
Senator Elihu Root, the other by the then 
Governor of New York State, whose name I 
am ashamed to have forgotten. But the joy 
of the afternoon was the delivery (not " in 
character ") of Hamlet's address to the 
players by Forbes- Robertson to the actual 
players of the company grouped on the stage. 
It must have been a trying ordeal in such 
conditions, but the English actor, with his 
beautiful voice, his perfect diction, his charac- 
teristic air of persuasive amenity, came out 
of it triumphantly. 

For the evening performance "Antony and 
Cleopatra " had been chosen. ScenicaJly it 
was well enough, but by no means impeccable, 
histrionically. Mr. Sothern was the tamest 
of Antonys. (I remember cabling to the 
Times that the squirrels in Central Park 
might have eaten out of his hand.) He 
seemed intimidated, if not shocked, by the 

voluptuous endearments of Miss Marlowe's 
Cleopatra. The really interesting thing was 
the audience — the most brilliant, I think, in 
diamonds and in beauty (and I have been 
present at many " Gala " performances in 
Europe) that I have ever seen. But a super- 
" elegant " public is always apt to be a little 
cold. This one, however, had unfortunately 
practical reason for its coldness ; it could 
only imperfectly hear. The millionaires 
had clubbed together. The finest site in 
New York had been chosen. The theatre of 
the world had been nobly planned, lavishly 
built, opened in state — and lo ! the acoustics 
were all wrong ! It was a sad disappoint- 
ment. All sorts of remedies, I believe, were 
subsequently tried, but were ineffectual. 
The millionaires' toy had broken in the hand ! 
For a few short months the theatre struggled 
on with the " legitimate," and then had to 
be given over to the illegitimate, to miscel- 
laneous entertainments, circuses, I know not 
what. Nor do I know anything about its 
fate at the present moment. 

PARISIAN first nights have a peculiar 
flavour. I had almost said, a peculiar 
scent. For French ladies, or, to be on 
the safe side, French ladies who attend the 
ripHitions gSnSrales, have a passion for per- 
fumes, and the Paris theatres are not, as a rule, 
ventilated in accordance with English notions. 
There is, in my experience, more " profession " 
apparent and less " society " in these dress- 
rehearsal audiences than at our London first 
nights. Notably is this the case at the 
Th&Ltre Fran9ais, where, exceptionally, to 
avoid a solution of continuity in the evening 
performances, the rehearsals take place in 
the afternoon. A Paris audience has the 
reputation of being the most critical of all. 
On that I can only say that I have heard as 
many inept remarks, as many of the usual 
trenchant summings-up and dismissals with 
a word, in Paris as elsewhere. I say the 
habit is " usual " with first-night audiences, 
because I confess to suffering under it. 
Nothing is so distracting to the theatrical 
critic who is trying quietly to take stock of 
his impressions and to arrive without haste 
at a considered, responsible judgment. People 
who are there merely to spend the evening 
want to profess an opinion on the spot, some- 
thing they can whisper in the ears of their 
friends as they flit round the stalls. These 
hasty verdicts may be too favourable or too 
hostile, but they are sure to be superficial — 
the very thing the critic, poor man, is trying 
to guard against. I know that this unwritten 
criticism, the whispered comments, smiles, or 
shrugs of the audience, is what generally 
determines the fate of the play as a commer- 
cial " proposition." But the responsible 
critic is out for other game— he is after artistic 


A. B. Walkley 


value, the re- 
lation of the 
play to other 
plays, to cer- 
tain trains of 
thought, and 
so forth. When 
I speak of the 
responsible cri- 
tic, I am think- 
ing of his re- 
sponsibility to 
his artistic 
ideals, to his 
aesthetic creed, 
to his philoso- 
phy of litera- 
ture and of life. 
The pity is, I 
cannot bu t 
think, that in 
some critics the 
sense of respon- 
sibility seems 
tn be lacking. 
They seem to 
be swayed by 
the first-nigh- 
ters around 
them, and to 
become in 
their'* notices ,f 
the obedient 
servants to 
command of 
the facile man- 

of- the -world isms and the cheap epigrams 
that enliven first-night chit-chat. Thus the 
unwritten criticism, so irresponsible, so off- 
hand, so ostensibly shrewd and practical 
but so fundamentally unliterary and inartis- 
tic, tends to be echoed in the written, which 
then ceases to be criticism at all, in any 
valid sense of the term, and becomes mere 
hearsay, mere reporting. I assume the 
privilege of an old fogy to hint to these 
critics that they should take their art more 
seriously. I am not suggesting that they 
should become ponderous or pontifical — far 
from it — but that they should shut their ears 
to the buzz of first-nighters and make a 
solitude within themselves, so that no ex- 
ternal irrelevancies may interfere with the 
free play of their own consciousness, their 
own appreciation of the work of art before 
them, their own principles and standards. 
This rigorous self- absorption in the midst of 
a crowd — and particularly a crowd brimming 
over with excitement, sociability, the desire 
for immediate utterance of no matter what, 
so long as it is " smart,'" about the play — is, 
1 am well aware, a difficult discipline. And 
however scrupulously one refrains from being 
drawn into conversation about the play on 

11 An ill-disposed gallery kicked up an infernal row al me fall of ihe curtain," 

first nights, what nonsense one cannot help 
overhearing ! As I say, I have overheard as 
much nonsense at a Paris dress -rehearsal as 
at any first night elsewhere. Indeed, more* 
because the Paris inter-acts are longer and 
the public more talkative, 


I speak feelingly, having attended pretty 
continuously for some years dress -rehearsals 
of Hervieu, Donnay, Capus, Brieux, Bataille, 
and the rest. The most remarkable of all, 
as an t( event/' perhaps, was the production 
of Rostand's " Chantecler " at the Porte 
St, Martin in the midwinter of 1909- 19 10. 
It was the memorable winter of the Seine 
floods, when half Paris was under water, 
The great event had been promised frequently 
during the previous twelve months and had 
been again and again put off, until the post- 
ponement became a public joke. Various 
rumours were current. Rostand could nut 
be got to put the finishing touches. Lucien 
Guitry was not happy about his part. 
Cynics said that it was all an advertising 
manoeuvre Anyhow, the excitement over 

the 6lWffi§fTW*l0fB grew and "*"' 


When the date 
was at last posi- 
tively fixed, the 
prayers, the in- 
trigues, the strug- 
gles for tickets 
were without 
precedent. Those 
who got tickets 
(Jean Coquelin 
j^ent me mine) 
treasured them 
as though they 
were a decora- 
tion, I remem- 
ber that as we 
filed into the 
Porte St. Mar- 
tin we were 
cheered, as 
though we were 
heroes, by an 
enormous crowd. 
The fact is, 
Rostand was at 
the height of his 
fame. The world- 
triumph of " Cy- 
rano" and of 
" L'Aiglon " had 
immensely grati- 
fied the patriotic pride of the French. Ros- 
tand had not only revived, and that in an age 
of pessimistic realism, the vogue of flamboyant 
romance, but he figured in the popular eye as 
the spokesman for France, the authoritative 
interpreter to the nations of the French 
spirit. " Chantecler/' it had been given out, 
was to be the most brilliant modern expres- 
sion of this spirit. Expectation raised to 
such a height could not but be disappointed. 
The play showed, what cooler critics had 
known all along, that Rostand is not so much 
a poet as an admirable rhetorician in verse. 
Its rhymes were ingenious, inexhaustible, 
astonishing as tricks of legerdemain, but the 
tone was uninspired, the matter thin and 
void. Rostand recalled to you more than 
ever the type of clever schoolboy or under- 
graduate who is a " dab " at verses. There 
was disappointment, too, over the represen- 
tation, Lucie n Guitrv was, and is a undoubt- 
edly the finest actor of our time. He was 
going, it was hoped, to make a legendary 
thing of Chanticleer, the Gallic cock, some- 
thing magisterially symbolical of France, and 
of goodness knows what else, As it turned 
out, he was manifestly ill at ease in his beak 
and feathers and suggested to an English eye 
something out of a Christmas pantomime. 
He certainly failed to make anything im- 
pressive of his part, jean Coquelin, with 
echoes of his father's trumpet notes and not 
a little of his breadth of stvle, was excellent 

Some First Nights 

A Scene from Rostand* s " Chantecler," 


tand will not rest upon 

as the Dog, but 
had little to do, 
Simone (" the 
wondrous de- 
monic little Si- 
mone/' as Henry 
James called her 
on another oc- 
casion) minced 
and coquetted 
under difficulties 
in the disguise 
of the Golden 
Pheasant, We 
came away rather 
be wi Id c red , wi t h 
w onderf ulrhymes 
ringing in our 
ears but with a. 
general suspicion, 
which we hardly 
dared to confess, 
that we had 
been 11 sold," that 
what the world 
had waited for so 
long Avas realty 
' full oi empti- 
ness/' Assuredly, 
the fame of 
Edmond Ros- 
Chantecler/ J 

LONDON first nights of French plays have 
, a peculiar character of their own* You 
will miss the familiar faces of many 
ordinary London first-nighters, and the audi- 
ence becomes exceptionally cosmopolitan as 
well as exceptionally ri smart/' When Sarah 
Bernhardt was in herSardou period — touring 
the world in " Fedora," in " La Tosca/' in 
" Theodora/* in " Gismonda " — not to be 
there on the first night was to confess your- 
self an outcast from London ' H society/' 
Though the actress was then by no means in 
her first youth, her golden voice was still 
golden and her charm, her art, at its most 
potent. Yet none of these brilliant occasions 
moved me so deeply as one only a few months 
ago when she returned to London, aged, 
maimed, but indomitable, to appear at the 
Prince's in * Daniel/' The immense au- 
dience, too, one could see was deeply moved* 
Daniel is not visible till the third act, and so 
great nvas the excitement, made more tense 
by waiting, that applause broke out some 
seconds before tht j act -drop was raised. 
When it was, and the actress was seen, seated 
alone in the centre of the stage, the mighty 
roar of welcome that went up ! The actress 
was. overcome and shed tears. I must confess 
I did, too. The thought of so many vanished 
tilings, the revival of so many old emotions, 
the contrastjrftjj i riBWro ft n< l present — these 

university of Michigan' 

A. B. Walkley 


cannot have left any of the older playgoers 
unaffected. A cry from some of the younger 
playgoers, at the curtain -fall, of " Speech ! 
Speech I " relieved the pathos of the occasion 
with a touch of the grotesque, French 
actresses are not accustomed to make 
speeches from the stage, and Sarah Bernhardt 
does not speak English, 


I have kept to the last a first night very 
different from those I have been chronicling. 
Indeed, even now I am doubtful whether I 
ought to speak of it, for I always think of it 
less as a public event than as one of my 
intimate, personal pleasures with which the 
world at large is not concerned. After all, 
however, it was a public performance, my 
pleasure was shared with many 
others, and so in recording 
mine, all egoisticallv, hug^in^ 
as it were my re- 
membered plea- 
sure to myself, I 
may still have the 
excuse of reviv- 
ing theirs. It is 
a subtle point, 
but I think indis- 
putable, that a 
peculiar charm 
attaches for us to 
such plays as 
happen to have 
been mentioned 
in the classics of 
romance. When 
I saw M. de 
Max not long ago 
at the Pavilion 
in an act of 
" Andromaque " 
it was an added 
pleasure to recall 
Addison's ac- 
cou nt of Sir 
RogeT de Cover- 
ley's visit to 
" The Distrest 
Mother/' the 
English version of 
play of Racine's, 
to remember, too 
chapter in ' 4 Tancred ** 
telling how the great 
Sidonia once saw ,F A11- 
dromaque " played in 
a little Flemish town 
by the strolling Baroni 
family. When they are 
playing " Hamlet/' one 
likes to think of the 


Bernhardt in " La Tosca 
of her greatest triumphs. 

account in ' Tom Jones " of Partridge's visit 
to Garricks performance of it P I have never 
seen (who has in this generation ?) either 
" Lover h s Vows ±J or " The Stranger," two 
old adaptations from Kotzebue, but I should 
like to see them if only because the ama- 
teurs in " Mansfield Park " rehearsed the 
first and Pen's adored Miss Fotheringay 
played Mrs. Haller, the heroine of the other. 
Do people ever now read that wonderful 
romance of Stendhal's, " La Chartreuse de 
Parme " ? If so, they will remember 
Fabrice's visit to the local theatre. 

He took a box in the third tier so as not to be 
seen ; Ihey were giving GoMoni's " La Locandiera." 
He w;is looking ut the architecture of the house and 
scarcely glanced at the sta^e. But the crowded 
audience was bursting into hi lighter at every iiHtant ; 
Fabrioe 1 K>ked at the young actress 
whtt was taking the }>art of the 
In ^\v>>. She struck him as quite 
pretty and nature 
itself — a niiive 
young girl who 
was the first to 
laugh at the pretty 
things that Goldoni 
put info her mouth 
and that she had 
the air of bein^ 
surprised at utter- 

Well, ' La 
Locandiera iS and 
Eleonora D use's 
first appearance 
in it here gave me 
the peculiar plea- 
sure I have been 
hugging to my- 
self. I can still 
see Duse entering 
in plain choco- 
late-col o u r e d 
gown, stiff hoop, 
and coquettish 
little cap. She. 
like Fabrice's 
young woman, 
was "nature 
itself." But 
she was exquisitely 
delicate and dainty by 
nature, I cannot go 
farther into it : I will 
only say that this 
performance fixes itself 
indelibly in my 
memory as p beyond all 
question, the moment 
ni greatest happiness 
I have ever enjoyed in 
the theatre. 


by Google 

Original from 







THI£ Essential Knowledge 
Organization had made 
the sort of overwhelm- 
ing success that is only 
possible in chaotic times. The 
over-excited public at once took 
to its little books, with the hope- 
ful device of an anchor on the yellow covers 
and the stimulating maxims inside* The 
books taught you the art of management — 
management of everything, from poultry to 
husbands — and they sold by millions, 

Started with some slight assistance from 
Government, the Organization had given 
away large sums in support of village dubs 
and libraries ; now it fostered innumerable 
benevolent enterprises, and was always 
launching schemes from its big central offices 
in the narrow street behind the Westminster 
Cathedral, It had a president, vice- 
presidents, and a managing committee ; but 
really and truly it was all the secretary, 
Mr. Edward Bats ford, Mr. Bats ford had 
invented it, and his energy and will-power 
kept it going. 

He seems to think/' said Irene Wing, 
writing home about him, " that because he 
does not spare himself there's no occasion 
to spare others. Ill say at once I never 
took such a dislike to anybody in my life ; 
and as I know instinctively that the feeling 
is mutual, I don't suppose I shall stay here 

" Would you believe it ? M said her mother, 
in the home circle at Woking, 

There were many girls employed at the 
Organization, and they all freely declared 
that they hated Mr, Batsford + As a man, 
he was, so to speak, death to girls— emitting 
a cold indifference and disdain that made an 
atmosphere they could not breathe comfort- 
ably. It was the more hateful because at 
first sight, and sometimes even for a day or 
two, newly-arrived girls admired his profile, 
were vaguely troubled by romantic fancies 
concerning him— as, for instance, that he was 


unhappy and needed comfort. 
But, my goodness, they soon 
found out their mistake. 

if There is something here 
belonging to somebody M ; and 
he pointed to a gauze scarf 
hanging over the back of a 
chair. " Please take it away/ 1 
" Sorry, My scarf ! pt 
" Oh, it belongs to you ? Please take it 
away/ - 

His gesture, as he repeated the request, 
was as irritating as a mustard plaster. 
Gradually the lightest- hearted girls acquired 
the certainty that their scarves, smiles, 
pretty curls, collars, and all things concerning 
them were odious to him. As soon as you 
were really certain, his way of looking at 
you made you feet an absolute worm ; unless 
you returned scorn for scorn, and said behind 
his back how intensely you loathed liim. 

He was so down on you, too. Some days 
you simply could not do right. But on no 
one had he come down with such heaviness 
as on Miss Wing, As the weeks passed all 
noticed it. 

ONE Saturday afternoon in the early 
period of her employment her mother 
and her stepfather came up from 
Woking to see her about it. They brought 
with them a faithful admirer of Irene, young 
Mr, Charles Paisley, who felt very strongly 
on the subject — so much so, indeed, that he 
had given up his afternoon's golf. 

They took Irene out to tea at a restaurant, 
and her mother, Mrs. Gordon, at once 
exclaimed on the deterioration of her appear- 
ance* She looked pale and exhausted. She 
herself confessed that she had nearly broken 
down on two occasions. 

* Well, now," said her stepfather, when 
they were all established at the tea-table, 
' tell us some more about the old gentleman/' 

1 What old gentleman ? " asked Irene. 
surprised. Original from 

W. B. Maxwell 


" Why, Mr. Batsford, of course." 

" But he's not old," and Irene laughed. 
'* What on earth put that into your head ? 
How comic ! No, I don't suppose he's more 
than thirty-five." 

" Would you believe it ? " - said Mrs. 
Gordon. It was a favourite expression of 

' Then what is it," asked Mr. Gordon, 
" that has soured him and made him so 
abominable to you all ? " 

" Oh, I suppose it's the nature of the 
beast," said Irene. 

And for the rest of the meal she talked 
about his unamiable characteristics. She 
told them of his arrogance and self-confidence 
with the authors of the famous little books ; 
of his high-and-mightiness with members of 
the committee, speaking to titled ladies as 
curtly, yes, as rudely, as to any of the staff — 
above all, she told them of his oppressive 
goading of the girls, whether clerks, packers, 
or typists. 

" He's simply a slave-driver," said Mr. 

" A bully and a coward," said young 
Charles Paisley, becoming crimson with 

" But hesha'n't bully our Irene," said her 
mother, bristling. 

"No, by Jove, he sha'n't!" said young 
Mr. Charles, more warmly still. 

Naturally they were all very indignant 
about it. " I'd like to put a spoke in his 
wheel," said Mr. Gordon, meditatively. 
" I'll turn it over in my mind. There's often 
ways of getting at people and making 'em 
sorry. I know three members of Parliament, 
and I think I'll speak to " 

"Oh, don't do that," said Irene. " No," 
she went on, valiantly, " don't let anybody 
bother about me. I sha'n't hesitate to resign. 
I shall say — if he pushes me to it — that it's 
obvious I don't give satisfaction, and the 
sooner he finds somebody more suited to his 
taste the better pleased I shall be." 

" Bravo ! " said her mother, fondly. 
" There's my high-spirited girl." 

So they left it at that. Irene should give 
notice the moment she felt the thing was 
more than she could put up with. 

TIME passed ; and then she received an 
order that next day she was to work in 
the secretary's own room. She and 
Miss Talbot were down in the basement 
corridor by the refreshment-room ; and 
Irene, almost fainting, sat for support on a 
window-ledge ! 

" Miss Talbot, you don't mean it ! You're 
only pulling my leg ? " 

" No, my dear," said Miss Talbot ; " it's 
quite correct. You're to be put on to the 
tabulating. It's difficult work, requiring 

intelligence — and there's nobody else avail 

" Did he himself say he wanted me ? " 

" No " ; and Miss Talbot tittered. " He 
said he'd rather have any other girl. But I 
told him it would have to be you." 

Irene had sprung up from the window- 
ledge. " Thank you very much — and him, 
too. Much obliged, I'm sure." 

After a sleepless night she arrived so early 
that the charwoman was only just leaving 
the secretary's room. 

The room was like himself — dark, severe, 
and handsome in a sombre, dignified way; 
without a single grace or ornament. As she 
glanced at his table, she was conscious of a 
sort of shuddering pleasure at being here — 
right in the lion's den. Her courage rose to 
meet the ordeal that lay before her. ' To 1 
day," she thought, " will probably see the 
end of me ; but I don't care. When he 
begins at me I'll stand up to him. I won't 
take it lying down like the other girls." 

Then she crossed to the wide hearth and 
examined her reflection in a looking-glass 
over the marble chimney-piece. Excitement 
had brought a glow to her cheeks, and her 
eyes seemed abnormally large and bright. 
She blinked them, observing the blinks, and 
remembering what her mother and others 
had said about the length of her eyelashes. 
Her dark hair, parted at the side, made a 
fair-sized wave over her left ear, and an 
enormous wave over her right ear. With 
the palm of her open hand she smoothed it. 
She also re-settled her lace collar and puffed 
out the sleeves of her blouse. 

" I wish," said a voice — and she started 
violently — " I wish you would kindly finish 
dressing before you come to work." 

He was there. He had gone to his table, 
and was sitting down. He had caught her 
unawares, and " begun at her " before she 
was ready. 

" Sorry," she murmured, feeling greatly 
embarrassed ; and she added something 
about having hurried because she did not 
want to "be unpunctual. 

" Punctuality," said Mr. Batsford, "is a 
great and a very rare virtue. Of course, it 
doesn't consist in doing things half an hour 
before the appointed time, but at the time." 

"I'll be late to-morrow," thought Irene, 
with swelling indignation, " and see how he 
likes that." But she said nothing aloud ; 
and two or three minutes had passed before 
she ventured to steal a glance in his direction. 

He was opening letters with an ugly steel 
knife. She observed the strong, decisive 
action of the knife, and the rapidity with 
which he mastered the contents of each letter. 
Now and then he was longer with a letter, 
deliberating over it, and smiling. His smile 
seemed to ivnply contempt, or at best amused 



Would You Believe It ? 

toleration, far the folly of all mankind and 

" Well ? What is it ?" He had spoken 
without raising his eyes or looking round. 
" Do you want anvthing ? " 

11 I ? Oh, no." 

fI Then why are you watching me ?" he 
asked, still without looking up, " I am 
opening letters. Have you never seen that 
done before ? " 

4i Often/' said Irene, shortly. " I was 
only wondering what I am to do exactlj\" 

" Miss Taibot will be here soon. She'll 
show you. Tabulation. Quite easy/' 

IN due course Miss Talbot arrived and 
established Irene at a table by herself, 
with masses of material from which she 
was to extract information. Two girls seated 
themselves at another table and laboured at 
lesser tasks. And the work of the day 
went on. 

Secretarial girls came, and Mr. Batsford 
dictated to them so fast that they pleaded 
for mercy. An author of a little book came, 
and Mr. Bats ford made him all hot and angry 
by the criticisms or amendments that he had 

Digitized by tjGOgK* 

* I wish/ said a voice— and she started 
kindly finish dressing before 

scribbled on the proof. Some of the male 
employees on the upper floor raised their 
voices, and Mr. Batsford went out and 
raised his voice — so fearfully that Irene's 
companions quailed over their papers, and 
were trembling and gasping when he returned. 

Then a member of the committee came in. 
She was a Lady Cynthia Grange, a resplend- 
ent ly dressed widow of thirty, with an 
affected voice and languishing manner. In 
spite of her rank, fine clothes, and official 
position, Mr. Batsford snubbed her cruelly; 
telling her in effect that he was too busy to 
be bothered with her, and that she had 
better call again* 

In this room, at the central point of the 
vast Organization, the atmosphere vibrated 
with haste and energy, Irene herself had 
the sensation of abnormal life and alertness. 
One took more breaths and had a greater 
number of heart-beats to the minute. It 
was like beingn^fi^iflbattle. Everything 


W. B. Maxwell 


violently- — ' 1 wish you would 
you come to work,' * 

peemecl not only interesting, but of para- 
mount importance 1 . This was how he ran 
the Organization ; and, greatly as she disliked 
him, she could not help admiring the relent- 
less efficiency of his generalship, 

The long days dragged themselves through, 
somehow. Downstairs, in the wretchedly 
uncomfortable refreshment- room or the 
dirty, ill- ventilated dressing-rooms, the girls 
chattered about the grim chieftain, asking 
Irene all sorts of questions. 

" Is it as bad as you expected — being in 
there with him ? " 

Par worse/' said Irene. 

" Does he go for you ? " 

Irene reported that he had not as yet 
abused her ; but he was always looking at 
her contemptuously, as though the mere 
sight of her was obnoxious to him, 

"I know,*' said one of the girls. ■' I 
know that look/ 1 

And Irene showed them some outline 

sketches of his profile that she had surrep- 
titiously made from the life. The girls said 
they were excellent, giving an idea of his 
angrv frown and glum expression. 

The girls often spoke disparagingly of the 
fact that he had not been to the war : but 
here some sense of justice, despite of her 
feeling of repulsion, compelled Irene to 
defend him. 

'* T can't think that he would show the 
white feather/' she said, puckering her 
forehead as she thought about it. "It 
doesn't seem like his character. I suppose 
he thought he was indispensable to the 

'* Yes, that's what everybody thought 
who was in a cushy job." 

f Oh, you can't call it a cushy job/ 1 said 
Irene. " Gjve the devil his due, He does 

She tried to defend him, too, when Miss 
Talbot and the other girls said that he was 



Would You Believe It ? 

trying to marry Lady Cynthia Grange. At 
first she could not give credence to ttus tale. 

" That must be absurd," she said. " For 
one thing, he's so fearfully rude to her." 

" Oh, Lady Cynthia doesn't mind that," 
Slid Miss Talbot, tittering. " Anyhow, she's 
always coming back for more, isn't she ? " 

And they went on to say that, of course, 
they did not suppose that he was in love 
with her. Love and Mr. Batsford were 
terms so essentially contradictory that they 
could never be brought together. But as 
an ambitious, conscienceless man, he would 
marry Lady Cynthia for her money and the 
handle to her name, and afterwards trample 
on her. He would trample on a thousand 
Lady Cynthias, if he thought that a pave- 
ment of broken hearts would give him a 
surer foothold on his way to victory. 

Irene shivered. This notion of a mer- 
cenary marriage was the worst thing she had 
heard about him ; and since it seemed to be 
true, she felt that she must despise as well 
as hate him. 

THEM one afternoon, when she was busily 
tabulating, he came and stood behind 
her and asked her to show him her 

"This is Silverbridge," she said, handing 
him the sheets. 

Silverbridge was a village in Hampshire 
that demanded furniture, games, and a grant 
in aid for its new evening club ; and Irene 
had been " getting out " every possible fact 
relating to the village. 

" Yes," said Mr. Batsford, after studying 
the sheets. " That's very good indeed. 
Exactly what I wanted." 

These few curt words of praise made Irene 
thrill with delight. They were so entire? ^ 
unexpected. She felt intoxicated by the 
triumphant thought that, far from failing, 
she was doing well. But immediately after- 
wards, when he went back to his table and 
she became calm again, she had a strong 
feeling of self-contempt for being so abjectly 
pleased with his praise. She thought, " That 
is always the way when you are dealing with 
a tyrant. The least little bit of kindness 
seems precious ; whereas with really con- 
siderate people, everything is taken for 
granted and there is no gratitude." She 
determined that she would not be guilty of 
this weakness. Nothing should ever make 
her bow down or truckle to him. Further 
she vowed, in order to maintain her self- 
respect, that if a chance came she would 
tackle him as unflinchingly as she did in 
those dreams of hers. 

The chance came promptly, \o put her 
resolution to the test. 

It was on the following evening, just 
before they closed the office, and Miss 

Talbot had brought him the Complaints 
Book. This volume, kept in the basement, 
was open for all employees to write down 
their complaints or suggestions. As a rule 
there was nothing much in the book ; but 
now a lot of girls had banded together to 
complain of the bad food, the dirty lavatory 
accommodation, and the want of sufficient 
heating in the workrooms. Irene was not a 
signatory to this indictment, but she knew 
all about it. 

" Rubbish!" said Mr. Batsford, frowning 
as he read the book. " Do they expect me 
to send them in motor-cars for luncheon 
at the Ritz Hotel every day ? " And he 
shut the book with a bang. 

*' Excuse me," said Irene, " they don't 
expect anything so foolish or ridiculous ; 
they only ask for decent treatment. And 
if you ask for my opinion " 

" But I haven't," said Mr. Batsford. 

" Well, I think it's iniquitous, the way 
they're treated." 

" Oh, you do, do you ? " 

" Yes, I do." 

The other two girls had already gone ; 
Miss Talbot, appalled by Irene's sudden 
madness, had slunk out of the room, and 
they stood confronting each other exactly as 
in the dreams. Irene's heart was beating 
fast ; she had flushed hotly, and now she 
was very pale ; but having started she 
gamely went on with it, although her voice 

She recited all the just grievances of the 
girls — frost-bitten at their desks in this cold 
winter weather ; compelled to use one 
horrid towel on a roller ; with nothing but 
hard household soap and often not enough 
of that ; nowhere to put your little odds and 
ends ; lukewarm tea, dusty rock-cakes, 
rancid margarine, and so on. 

He heard her, out, with a frown that did 
not daunt her, and a smile so irritating that 
it helped to keep up her courage. Then 
without a word he put on his hat and over- 
coat, and left the room. Irene sank down 
on her chair all weak and breathless, feeling 
as one does after running to catch a train 
and jumping into an empty compartment. 

" Look here, Miss Wing." 

He had come back, and she pulled herself 
• together. 

" There may be something in what you 
say about their being none too comfortable ; 
but, you know, this is a serious enterprise, 

and " He made a gesture, which seemed 

to say, " After all, they're only girls ; and 
you know my opinion of the species." 

" But, Miss Wing, about yourself ? You 
honestly don't find the conditions satisfac- 
tory ? " 

" Who could ? " said Irene, with a flash. 

" You don t feel happy in the work ? ** 


W. B. Maxwell 


" Happy ! " echoed Irene, with all the 
irony she could put into her tone. 

" I see. Very well. Good-night." 

Downstairs in the basement Miss Talbot 
was waiting for her. 

" Well," said Miss Talbot, " you have 
done it now with a vengeance. He gave 
you the sack, I suppose ? " 

11 Not in so many words, but as good as/ 
I'm glad of it." And Irene tossed her head 
and glared defiantly. "I'm fed up with the 
Organization, and I meant to bring it to 
a crisis." Then Irene collapsed a little. 
" Only please don't tell the other girls. 
One feels so small being turned out. As a 
favour to me, don't let them know." 

" But they'll see you go," said Miss 
Talbot. " To-morrow he'll probably tell 
you to draw your screw to the end of the 
week and not come again. That's the way 
he does it." 

BUT on the morrow nothing happened; 
nor on the day after ; and in these two 
days Irene lived more vividly and 
expended more nervous force th^n during 
the last two years. It was like being 
driven along the edge of a terrific preci- 
pice, or being tied to the mouth of a 
loaded cannon. On the third day she was 
given fresh work to do — making synopses ; 
compared with which tabulating had been 
mere child's play. She looked at "the ceiling 
despairingly, puckered her forehead, and 
bit her lip ; then she clenched her teeth 
and wrestled with the difficult task ; and 
after a day or two she felt, she knew, that 
she was getting on all right. Moreover, 
marvellous as it seemed, he evidently did not 
intend to punish her for her violent out- 
spokenness. He appeared to have forgotten 
all about it. Perhaps, too, with all its 
faults, his character had this one mag- 
nanimous streak in it — knowing how rude he 
was himself, he refused to harbour resent- 
ment on account of the rudeness of other 
• people. 

" Wait, please. I want to speak to you." 

This was on the evening of the tenth day, 
and they were alone in the room again. He 
went on writing for a moment or two ; then 
looked up, and told her that he had secured 
her another and more suitable job. A rich 
lady of his acquaintance wanted a secretary 
or companion, and she was willing to engage 
Irene. She would probably take her to the 
South of France, and give her quite a good 

" Lady Cynthia, I suppose ? " said Irene, 

"No, it's not Lady Cynthia. It's an 
elderly lady — Mrs. Gore- Johnson." 

Irene declined the engagement. 

" Oh, nonsense ! " said Mr. Batsford, 

*oUxiL-18 D 

severely, after he had asked her a few 
questions. " Of course you must go. From 
what you tell me of your circumstances, it's 
the very thing for you." 

Then he walked about the room looking 
at her gloomily, while Irene pleaded not to 
be sent away. A dozen different feelings 
impelled her. The sense of failure just when 
she had been confident of success ; the sense 
of injustice ; a sudden invincible distaste 
to things that a little while ago would 
have filled her with pleasurable anticipation, 
such as ease, luxury, foreign travel ; above 
all, wounded pride — these sensations and 
thoughts made it a hard fight for her to 
maintain her dignity and not burst into 

" Please don't send me away, Mr. Batsford. 
It isn't fair. Even if you want to get rid of 
me, it's not kind — no, nor just either — to do 
it without cause. I have done nothing 
wrong. What will the other girls think ? " 

Mr. Batsford shrugged his shoulders and 

" I — I have tried so hard. You can't say 
I don't try." 

" I haven't said it." 

" Then why ? " said Irene, with a catch 
of the breath. 

" Why ? Well " He was rearranging 

the books on his table, and he stood with his 
back turned towards her. " Well, if you 
must know — frankly, I consider that you are 
a disturbing, an upsetting influence here." 

" But that's not true," she said, indig- 
nantly. " No one has a right to say that. 
Why, I didn't even sign the big complaint in 
the book." 

Mr. Batsford merely shrugged his shoulders, 
and Irene continued to address his back. 

" I talk less than any of them. I work 
too hard to " 

" Yes," said Mr. Batsford, turning round, 
" you work too hard. That's another reason. 
I have noticed how pale you have been 
lately " ; and he went on to say that work 
in the office was not likely to grow any 
lighter, but rather heavier. 

" You know, Miss Wing," he said, walking 
about the room again, " I have given 
myself body and soul to the Organization. 
Nothing but the work matters to me. The 
work is my life — although I understand that 
I can't expect other people to be interested 
in it." 

" But I am interested in it," cried Irene. 
" I think of nothing else. I should be 
miserable if I wasn't going on with it." 

And it was true. Such, it appeared, was 
the inexorable force of habit. She looked 
round her, at the dingy room, at her little 
table — her own private table — and she felt 
that even the presence of Mr. Batsford in 
the room did not spoil it for her. To be 



Would You Believe It f 

banished from the room and -her work would 
be simply unbearable. She said so. 

" Oh, all right,'' said Mr. Batsford, 
brusquely. " Have it your own way " ; and 
he snatched up his coat and hat, and went 

AFTER this Irene felt something ap- 
^ prpaching to security of tenure with 
regard to her cane chair and the special 
table, and she worked with a will. Think- 
ing incessantly of Mr. Batsford 's character, 
she readjusted some, of her views concern- 
ing it. The devil is never "quite as black 
as the gossip of his dependents paints 
him. She said to herself, " I must not 
allow my judgment to be biased by the 
fact that he is so entirely unsympathetic 
in my eyes. This instinctive antagonism 
that exists between him and me must be 
put clean out of consideration when I am 
summing him up ; and if I can find any 
redeeming traits I must conscientiously 
recognize them." 

The cook had been dismissed, and there 
was a marked improvement in the catering. 
New japanned basins had been fitted in the 
dressing-rooms ; the quality of the soap was 
better ; and one mornjng carpenters appeared 
and began to fix a range of neat lockers and 
shelves. # • 

Irene, watching all these improvements, 
felt delighted, and yet perturbed and flut- 
tered. The fact was that a vaingloripus 
thought kept agitating her mind. Had 
Mr. Batsford been influenced/ to a large or 
small extent, by what she had so boldly 
said ? Perhaps her outburst, coming on top 
of the complaint book, had " brought home 
to him " the real discomfort of her fellow- 

She waited for an opportunity, and then 
told him what pleasure his obliging acts had 
given to everyone; but he snubbed her 
unmercifully. - 

Then all at once the work increased to a 
terrible extent, and the whole Organization 
heard the first murmurs of a gathering storm. 
A member of Parliament had asked a question 
in the House. He wanted to know how the 
large funds contributed by the public were 
being administered, and whether it was a 
fact that the absolute control of the Or- 
ganization was in the hands of one man, the 
secretary. This question, leading to com- 
ments in the Press, roused to bustling 
activity the vice-presidents, the committee, 
the principal subscribers, who now all 
required the fullest information in regard to 
the smallest details. For the staff, it soon 
meant that their work had almost doubled. 
Mr. Batsford was hard at it to all hours of the 
night, and his temper became appalling. 
Irene, often working after office hours herself, 

Digitized by LiOOglC 

did not dare speak to him or even whisper 
good-night when she crept away arid teit him 
sitting there. 

Then Mr. Batsford fell ill. Instead of 
arriving as usual one morning, he .sent a 
message to say he was laid up^ His absence 
created the utmost confusion. 

" We shall never get through the day 
without him," said Miss Talbot, desolately. 

And they did not. The president came, 
demanding such statistics as made you 
giddy; saying that; he wanted a special 
general meeting to be called, notices sent out, 
and a statement prepared for the Press. 
About tea-time Miss TaJtfot, inrdsspair, sent 
Irene to Mr. Batsford 's private residence 
with a letter imploring him to scrawl his 
pencilled instructions. 

THE house was in one oi those? old 
streets near the river, and as soon is 
Irene entered it a rapid readjustment 
of her ideas began. It was modestly but 
charmingly furnished, with lots of pretty 
things. She was very kindly received by 
his two maiden .sisters, women much older 
than himself, who insisted on giving her 
tea while the letter went upstairs to the 
sick room. , 

" I hope he's not very bad," said Irene. 

11 Well, you know, it's this horrible trench 
fever. He would go back too soon after his 
dreadful wound, and hp got the fever — and 
it returns." 

" Do you mean that he w&s at the -war ? " 
said Irene, blankly. . 

" Of course he, was at;-, the -.war," said the 
elder sister, bridling. " He enlisted the first 
day of the war — got his commission at the 
front." .... , r 

" Twice wounded, and twice mentioned in 
despatches," said the younger sister. 

Irene's thoughts were in a whirl ; the 
readjustments required were too rapid. She 
could scarcely listen -to what the two sisters 
were now saying. Obviously they adored 
him and thought him the best of brothers* 
They said his talents were so great that he 
would mafce-a success of anything he touched, 
and that splendid commercial posts had been 
offered to hirp. But he did not care for 
-money ; he only cared for work. They said, 
too, that no doubt h$ had secret enemies, who 
had stirred up all this fuss and worry about 
the Organization. 

Irene was thinking of his military service. 
Instead of dinning the war, as Charles Paisley 
always did, he never said one word about it. 
She thought, " Of course ! Why should he ? 
What does he care what I and the other girls 
say about him ? Not a snap of his fingers ! 
But, by Jingo, it was fine of him to enlist in 
the ranks — and first day of the war. No 
shilly-shally about that/ 9 

■_■ 1 1 •_! 1 1 1 '.1 1 1 1 '.' 1 1 1 


W. B. Maxwell 


In spite of his illness, he had got up and dressed himssli ; and he said he was (_oing 

straight hack to the office." 

rv ■»■ «wh r^rw-uiL-- Original from 



Would You Believe It? 

While she was talking to herself in this 
manner, he unexpectedly opened the door 
and came into the room. In spite of his 
illness, he had got up and dressed himself ; 
and he said he was going straight back to the 

His sisters were aghast. " Edward ! You 
can't do it. You're in a high fever. At 
least wait till a cab can be fetched." 

11 There is one at the door now," said 
Mr. Batsford. " Are you ready, Miss 
Wing ? " 

The sisters followed them out, whispering 
anxiously to Irene. 

Sitting by his side in the cab, she spoke to 
him with fear and trembling. 

11 Mr. Batsford, is this wise ? " 

" I wish you'd kindly " And he 


" Mind my own business ? " 

" Well, yes — since you've said it." 

He was dreadful to see, at his big office 
table ; but he sat there working continuously 
till midnight. Now and again he talked to 
himself, but not deliriously. 

" What fools people are ! " he kept saying. 
" What infernal fools people are ! " 

He came next morning, and he looked 
worse than ever. His eyes were like tar- 
nished glass, instead of being darkly brilliant 
or blazing with fire ; he had a little dry 
cough ; his usually brusque gestures had 
become slow and vague. Nevertheless, he 
worked all through the day, and under his 
control the Organization again was running 

In the afternoon, Irene, feeling that 
common humanity called upon her to do 
something, brought him up a breakfast cup 
of tea and one of the new, gentler kind of 
rock-cakes. He thanked her ; but made a 
poor pretence of eating. 

At half-past seven she asked him how long 
he proposed to go on working. He did not 
answer, and she repeated her question. 

" Till I have finished," he said, wearily. 
" Don't wait. I sha'n't want you any 

Irene sat watching him, and feeling various 
emotions. She was worried, afraid, and 
angry. She thought, " Why should I fear 
him ? He is only a sick man — and a very 
childish one, too. This masculine obstinacy 
of his may kill him. Where's the sense in 
sitting up when he ought to be in bed ? 
Talk of girls being silly ! " 

Suddenly she putted herself together, rose 
so abruptly that she nearly upset the cane 
chair, and marched across to his table. 

" Mr. Batsford, I want to feel your hand." 

" Feel my hand ? " 

" Yes," she said, resolutely, and she seized 
his hand and held it between the palms of 
her hands. " Yes," she said again, almost 

Digitized by VliOOQ IC 

fiercely now, " just as I thought," and she 
flounced out of the room. 

She was breathless when she returned 

" Mr. Batsford, I have sent for a taxt 
cab. Your temperature is probably a 
hundred and four. And you've got to go 
straight home." 

" But my work ? " he said, feebly. 

" Your work can't be any good while you're 
in this state. Besides, I promised Miss 

" You did, did you ? " He looked at her 
helplessly. " You may be right. Very well. 
I'll obey." 

Wonderful feelings arose in Irene's breast 
as she went down the stone stairs with him. 
She felt pity, a queer sort of motherly pride, 
and above all an overwhelmingly delicious 
enhancement of power and importance. She 
had done this incredible thing. She had 
sent him home. 

HE was terrible when he returned to 
the office after three days in bed — so 
hard and stern that one could not 
even ask him if he felt better. But Irene 
did not mind. Obviously he was getting 
on all right. If she had not saved his 
life, she had at any rate performed a plain 
duty, in accordance with the dictates of 

And she had little leisure for meditation : 
the work was so colossal. The storm had 
gathered force. More questions had been 
asked in Parliament, and the newspapers 
were full of criticism about the management 
of the Organization. No one could doubt 
the good it was doing, no one could question 
its honesty ; the carefully audited accounts 
were as clear as daylight. Only you could 
not deny that it was a one-man concern. 
Mr. Batsford had run it with Napoleonic 
methods, deciding weighty matters all by 
himself, issuing grants without always waiting 
for the authorization of his figure-head 

Now, however, all these dummies had 
come to life. Irene, who attended the 
special general meeting and made notes, 
seemed able to understand the whole position. 
Acting in his masterful way, Mr. Batsford 
had wounded susceptibilities, trodden on toes, 
rubbed people the wrong way. Now, in the 
common phrase, they would not be unwilling 
to bring him down a peg or two. One could 
feel the latent hostility in the air. 

More and more Irene felt indignant as 
she listened. All these people were utterly 
incompetent themselves ; there would have 
been no Organization at all but for him. He 
had made a triumphant success of it. Why 
shouldn't he manage it without their vacil- 
lating interference ? m 


W. B. Maxwell 


She noticed that he was haughty and 
resolute, but very courteous, restraining 
himself admirably. He agreed at once to 
any suggestions for curbing his power in the 

Irene after the meeting walked about his 
empty room, and almost burst with indigna- 
tion at the way they were treating him. 
She threw herself heart and soul into his case. 
She felt, " This is no time for private feelings. 
My likes and dislikes are nothing. Whether 
I hate him or not, he is in trouble ; and it is 
my duty to help him." 

During the days that followed she helped 
him to the best of her ability, never sparing 
herself. Thus, tidying his table of an 
evening after he had gone, she would finish 
uncompleted tasks and repair any little 
omissions caused by the stress and turmoil of 
the day. One evening she found in a tray 
two large cheques duly signed, with letters 
attached saying that the Organization had 
pleasure in making these two grants to the 
institutions named. The addressed en- 
velopes were there too ; the dates on the 
letters were a week old. Obviously, instead 
of being sent off, these things had been over- 
looked. Irene stamped the envelopes with 
her own stamps, and posted them with her 
own hands. • 

On the following evening she received a 
visit from her old and faithful admirer, 
Mr. Paisley. "Oh, bother!" said Irene, 
when she heard that he was waiting for her 
in the basement. She guessed at once that 
he had come to ask for news about her ; 
because during this period of excitement and 
anxiety she had not been able to answer 
letters from home. Her mother, moreover, 
had irritated her by persistent inquiries as to 
whether anything was happening at the 
Organization. " Don't forget to tell us if 
anything fresh occurs " — and so forth. 
Couldn't they read in the papers that the 
secretary had been attacked by secret 
enemies and that a widespread conspiracy to 
overthrow him was in full activity ? 

" You really oughtn't to come here," she 
said to Mr. Paisley, with visible displeasure. 
" You might surely have known how busy 
I am." 

" Oh, you can spare me just a minute or 
two," said Charles, grinning. 

" I can't ! " and Irene stamped her foot 
irritably. " Not half a minute. I'm at 
my wits' ends to get through with all I've 
g-rt to do." 

" But I say," and Mr. Paisley sniggered, 
and jerked his head in an upward direction. 
" How does that brute like it now ? " 

" What do you mean ? " and Irene's eyes 

" Mr. What's-his-name — your boss ! He 
is being paid out for the wav he behaved to 


you, isn't he ? Your stepfather promised to 
get quits with him." 

" What do you mean ? " repeated Irene, 
but in a dull, frozen tone, and she pressed 
both hands to her heart. 

She had guessed the abominable truth, 
although she asked what Charles meant. 
She remembered what her idiotic stepfather 
had said in those early days about making 
Mr. Batsford sorry for himself and speaking 
to members of Parliament. And he had 
done it all. Her own close relatives were the 
secret enemies who were trying to ruin 
Mr. Batsford. Her own thoughtless words 
had been the spark that set the slow powder- 
train alight and finally produced this world- 
shaking explosion. 

" Tell dad," she said, " that I'll never 
forgive him for his interference — not as long 
as I live. No, nor you either," and she rushed 
away from the amazed Charles Paisley. 

She rushed upstairs, two steps at a time, 
and burst into the secretary's room. She 
wanted to fall on her knees there and then, 
and confess her tragic share in all the disaster. 
But Mr. Batsford was not in his room. 
To-night he had left the building earlier than 
usual. She wanted to follow him to his 
private residence, but dared not do so. She 
dared not face the two maiden sisters- — it 
was they who had first used that expression 
" secret enemies." 

In an agony of mind she paced the floor 
of the empty room. When she thought 
of her stepfather, she was tempted to 
echo Mr. Batsford 's feverish phrase, 
" What infernal fools people are " ; when 
she thought of herself, she either gnashed 
her teeth or gnawed her handkerchief. It 
did seem to her that she had been guilty of 
such an unspeakably odious treachery. To 
sit there day after day, within sight of his 
eyes, within sound of his voice, within reach 
of an accidental touch of his hand ; and all 
the while the conspiracy against him being 
hatched under her mother's roof at Woking, 

THAT night she did not sleep a minute. 
She tossed and turned and moaned, 
stung by remorse and shame. 

Pallid of face, with red rims round her 
eyes, she was waiting for him in his room 
when he arrived next morning, and she 
began at once, the moment he opened the 

" Mr. Batsford, I have to tell you that I 
am to blame for everything. I am mere 
sorry than I can say, but all of it is my 

" I don't quite follow," said Mr. Batsford, 
looking at her. 

Then she explained, telling him the com- 
plete story. When she had finished, he 
laughed and light of it. 



Would You Believe It ? 

What's the meaning of this ? " he roared* ' Receipt and thanks for two hundred 

pounds/ " 




W. B. Maxwell 


" Oh, that's all right," and he shrugged his 
shoulders. " Public men are liable to this 
sort of criticism. I was always prepared for 
it. If Mr. Gordon hadn't started it, some- 
body else would.'' 

'■ " It's very good — and noble of you — to 
say so." 

" Not in the least. Please don't distress 
yourself — don't give it another thought." 

" All my life," murmured Irene, brokenly. 

" Nonsense ! Now, if you don't mind, you 
really must allow me to get on with the 

She watched him as he opened the 
letters with the steel knife, just as she had 
done on her very first morning in the room ; 
and every now and then she furtively wiped 
her eyes. She felt that he had taken her 
confession grandly. He was stern and 
dignified as ever, absolutely unruffled. 

But all at once he sprang up with a loud 
cry, exactly as if he had been stabbed in the 
back by an invisible foe. 

" What's the meaning of this ? " he roared. 
" Receipt and thanks for two hundred 
pounds ! But the cheque was never sent. 
I had it there safe in my tray." And he 
rang the bell, shouted for Miss Talbot, and 
wildly turned out the contents of all the 
trays on his table. 

Miss Talbot with others came in, and there 
was such a noise that for a little while Irene 
could not make herself heard. Then she 
explained that, if he was alluding to cheques 
for two village clubs, she had packed them 
up and sent them off herself. 

*' Oh, you did, did you ? " said Mr. Bats- 
ford ; and he sat down again. 

" I — I hope I haven't done wrong," said 
Irene, faintly. 

Mr. Batsford laughed mirthlessly. " Oh, 
no, you meant well. Only now the fat is in 
the fire." 

During the course of the day Irene became 
as one distraught. Little by little she learned 
all about those cheques. They were being 
purposely kept back. They had been talked 
of by the committee, who refused to authorize 
their issue until time was given them further 
to consider the matter. Mr. Batsford had 
pleaded ardently on behalf of the two clubs, 
but he had promised to abide the committee's 
decision. Now, of course, they would think 
he was wilfully defying them. 

Nevertheless, as Miss Talbot informed 
Irene, he had given an order that no ex- 
planation was to be offered as to how the 
mistake occurred. He assumed full re- 
sponsibility for it. 

That, however, Irene could not bear. She 
wrote frenzied letters to the president and to 
several members of the committee, stating 
that the blame was entirely hers and implor- 

by Google 

ing that no one else should be made to suffer. 
She even wrote, in the same strain, to Lady 
Cynthia Grange. 

THE affair culminated two days later. 
There was a sitting of the committee 
with closed doors, and after a time the 
secretary and Miss Wing were called in to 
hear their fate. The committee, speaking 
through the mouth of their chairman, said 
that a thing like this could not be altogether 
passed over. In view of his eminent services 
in the past and his promises to amend his 
manner in the future, Mr. Batsford was to 
retain his position ; but Miss Wing must go. 

" Oh, no, she doesn't," said Mr. Batsford. 

" What is that ? " 

" If she goes, / go." 

" It is absurd," said Lady Cynthia, " to 
try to shield the girl from the consequences 
of her own stupidity." 

Then Mr. Batsford said that the girl was not 
stupid ; at any rate not as stupid as many 
other people, including Lady Cynthia herself. 

Then Lady Cynthia said she would not be 
insulted and shouted at. 

" I am sorry I shouted," said Mr. Batsford, 
a little less loudly ; but, soon losing mastery 
of his passion, he was rude to the committee. 
There is no denying that Mr. Batsford could 
be rude, and on this occasion he was rude. 
He, as it were, threw his resignation in 
people's faces. He said that the committee 
might henceforth run the Organization their 
own way ; they might run it to the devil 
for all he cared. Irene, listening and watch- 
ing, felt a quivering ecstasy of admiration. 

" Come along," he said to her, roughly, 
at the end of his speech ; and he led her 
through the passages into his own room. 
After he had banged the door behind them, 
he stood looking at her with a queer expres- 
sion on his recently wrathful face. 

" Irene," he said, " what's the use ? I 
give it up. I can't struggle against you any 
more." He had got her in his arms now, and 
he kissed her almost savagely. '• Ah — and 
you feel the same. You do love me — say it 
— you've loved me all the time." 

And she said it. 

" Darling girl, how I fought against pit ! 
But you didn't mind. You soon knew. 
And you wove your spells, and laid your 
plots, and delighted in my feeble efforts to 
escape you." 

" No, I didn't. How can you say so ? " 

That same evening she wrote home, at 
last answering her mother's' question as to 
what had happened at the Organization, and 
begging that the news might be broken as 
gently as possible to Charles Paisley. 

" Would you believe it ? " said Mrs. 
Gordon, after reading Irene's letter. 

Original from 




THERE was 
a 1 e t f c r 
that came 
to Leon 
Gonsalez, and 
the stamp bore 
the image and 
superscription of 
Alfonso XI I L It 
was from a 
placid man who 
had written his 
letter in the hour 
of siesta, when 
Cordova slept, 
and he had 
scribbled all the 
tilings which had 
come into his 
head as he sat in an orange 
bower overlooking the 
lordly Guadalquivir, now in 
yellow spate, 

" It is from Poiccart/' said Leon. 
' Yes ? ' J replied George Manfred, 

Man Wko Hated 
Amelia Jones 



asleep in a big arm-chair before the fire. 

That and a gre en -shaded reading lamp 
supplied the illumination to their comfortable 
Jermyn Street fiat at the moment. 

" And what/' said George, stretching him- 
self, " what does our excellent friend Poiccart 
have to say ? ** 

H A blight has come upon his onions/' 
said Leon, solemnly, and Manfred chuckled 
and then was suddenly grave. 

There was a time when the name of these 
three, with one who now lay in the Bordeaux 
cemetery, had stricken terror to the hearts 
of evildoers. In those days The Four Just 
Men were a menace to the sleep of many 
cunning men who had evaded the law, yet 
had not evaded this ubiquitous organization, 
which slew ruthlessly in the name of Justice. 

Poiccart was growing onions ! Manfred 
sighed and repeated the words alouc 


" And why 

not ? " demanded 
Leon. " Have 
you read of 
4 The Three Mus- 
keteers ' ? " 

"Surely/ 1 said 
Manfred, with a 
smile at the fire, 
"In what 
book, may I 
ask ? " demanded 

"Why, in 'The 
Three Mus- 
keteers/ of 
course/ 1 replied 
m m Manfred, in sur- 
' Then you did wrong/' 
said Leon Gonsalez, 
promptly, " To Jove the 
Three Musketeers, you must 
read of them in ' The Iron Mask/ 
When one of them has grown fat and is 
devoting himself to his raiment and one 
is a mere courtier of the King of France and 
the other is old and full of sorrow for his 
love-sick child. Then they become human, 
my dear Manfred, just as Poiccart becomes 
human when he grows onions. Shall I read 
you bits ? " 

" Please/' said Manfred, properly abashed, 
* 4 H'm," went on Gonsalcz. " I told you 
about the onions, George. ' I have some 
gorgeous roses. Manfred would love them 
. . . do not take too much heed of this new 
blood test, by which the American doctor 
professes that he can detect degrees of 
relationship , ♦ . the new little pigs are 
doing exceedingly well. There is one that 
is exceptionally intelligent and contemplative. 
I have named him George/ JJ 

George Manfred by the fire squirmed in 
his chair and dDpi^ihtfL f ro m 


Edgar Wallace 


' ' This will be a very good year for wine, 
I am told,' " Leon read on, " ' but the 
oranges are not as plentiful as they were last 
year ... do you know that the finger- 
prints of twins are identical ? Curiously 
enough, the finger-prints of twins of the 
anthropoid ape are dissimilar. I wish you 
would get information on this subject ' " 

He read on, little scraps of domestic news, 
fleeting excursions into scientific side-issues, 
tiny scraps of gossip — they filled ten closely- 
written pages. 

Leon folded the letter and put it in his 

" Of course he's not right about the finger- 
prints of twins being identical. That was 
one of the illusions of the excellent Lombroso. 
Anyway, the finger-print system is unsatis- 

" I never heard it called into question/' 
said George, in surprise. " Why isn't it 
satisfactory ? " 

EON rolled a cigarette with deft fingers, 
licked down the paper, and lit the ragged 
end before he replied. 

" At Scotland Yard they have, let us say, 
one hundred thousand finger-prints. In 
Britain there are fifty million inhabitants. 
One hundred thousand is exactly one five- 
hundredth of fifty millions. Suppose you 
were a police officer and you were called to 
the Albert Hall where five hundred people 
were assembled and told that one of these 
had in his possession stolen property and you 
received permission to search them. Would 
you be content with searching one and giving 
a clean bill to the rest ? " 

" Of course not," said Manfred, *' but I see 
what you mean." 

" I mean that until the whole of the 
country and every country in Europe adopts 
a system by which every citizen registers his 
finger-prints, and until all the countries have 
an opportunity of exchanging those finger- 
prints and comparing them with their own, 
it is ridiculous to say that no two prints are 

" That settles the finger-print system," 
said Manfred, sotto voce. 

" Logically it does," said the complacent 
Leon, " but actually it will not, of course." 

There was a long silence after this and then 
Manfred reached to a case by the side of the 
fireplace and took down a book. 

Presently he heard the creak of a chair as 
Gonsalez rose and the soft " pad ! " of a 
closing door. Manfred looked up at the 
clock and, as he knew, it was half-past eight. 

In five minutes Leon was back again. He 
had changed his clothing and, as Manfred 
had once said before, his disguise was perfect. 
It was not a disguise in the accepted under- 
standing of the word, for he had not in any 

Digitized by W 

way touched his face, or changed the colour 
of his hair„ Only by his artistry he contrived 
to appear just as he wished to appear, an 
extremely poor man. His collar was clean, 
but frayed. His boots were beautifully 
polished, but they were old and patched. He 
did not permit the crudity of a heel worn 
down, but had fixed two circular rubber 
heels just a little too large for their founda- 

" You are an old clerk battling with 
poverty, and striving to the end to be genteel," 
said Manfred. 

Gonsalez shook his head. 

" I am a solicitor w r ho, twenty years ago, 
was struck off the- rolls and ruined because I 
helped a man to escape the processes of the 
law. An ever so much more sympathetic r6le t 
George. Moreover, it brings people to me 
for advice. One of these nights you must 
come down to the public bar of the Cow and 
Compasses and hear me discourse upon the 
Married Woman's Property Act." 

" I never asked you what you were before," 
said George. " Good hunting, Leon, and 
my respectful salutations to Amelia Jones ! " 

Gonsalez was biting his lips thoughtfully 
and looking into the fire, and now he nodded. 

" Poor Amelia Jones ! " he said, softly. 

" You're a wonderful fellow," smiled 
Manfred ; " only you could invest a char- 
woman of middle age with the glamour of 

Leon was helping himself into a thread- 
bare overcoat. 

'* There was an English poet once — it was 
Pope, I think — who said that everybody was 
romantic who admired a fine thing, or did 
one. I rather think Amelia Jones has done 

THE Cow and Compasses is a small 
public-house in Treet Road, Deptford. 
The gloomy thoroughfare was wellnigh 
empty, for it was a grey cold night when Leon 
turned into the bar. The uninviting weather 
may have been responsible for the paucity 
of clients that evening, for there w r ere 
scarcely half-a-dozen people on the sanded 
floor when he made his way to the bar and 
ordered a claret and soda. 

One who had been watching for him 
started up from the deal form on which she 
had been sitting and subsided again when 
he walked toward her with glass in hand. 

" Well, Mrs. Jones," he greeted her, " and 
how are you this evening ? " 

She was a stout woman with a white, 
worn face and hands that trembled spas- 

" I am glad you've come, sir," she said. 

She held a little glass of port in her hand, 
but it was barely touched. 

It was on one desperate night when in an 



The Four Just Men 

agony of terror and fear this woman had fled 
from her lonely home to the light and comfort 
of the public-house that Leon had met her. 
He was at the time pursuing with the greatest 
caution a fascinating skull which he had seen 
on the broad shoulders of a Covent Garden 
porter. He had tracked the owner to his 
home and to his place of recreation and was 
beginning to work up to his objective, which 
was to secure the history and the measure- 
ments of this unimaginative bearer of fruit, 
when the stout charwoman had drifted into 
his orbit. To-night she evidently had some- 
thing on her mind of unusual importance, 
for she made three lame beginnings before 
she plunged into the matter which was 
agitating her. 

" Mr. Lucas " (this was the name Gonsalez 
had given to the habituis of the Cow and 
Compasses), " I want to ask you a great 
favour. You've been very kind to me, 
giving me advice about my husband, and all 
that. But this is a big favour, and you're a 
very busy gentleman, too." 

She looked at him appealingly, almost 

11 I have plenty of time just now," said 

** Would you come with me into the 
country to-morrow ? " she asked. " I want 
you to — to — to see somebody." 

" Why, surely, Mrs. Jones," said Gonsalez. 

*' Would you be at Paddington Station at 
nine o'clock in the morning ? I would pay 
your fare," she went on, fervently. " Of 
course I shouldn't allow you to go to any 
expense — I've got a bit of money put by." 

" As to that," said Leon, " I've made a 
little money myself to-day, so don't trouble 
about the fare. Have you heard from your 
husband ? " 

" Not from him," she shook her head, " but 
from another man who has just come out of 

Her lips trembled and tears were in her 

" He'll do it, I know he'll do it," she said, 
with a catch in her voice, " but it's not me 
that I'm thinking of." 

Leon opened his eyes. 

" Not you ? " he repeated. 

He had suspected the third factor, yet had 
never been able to fit it in the scheme of this 
commonplace woman. 

" No, sir, not me," she said, miserably. 
" You know he hates me and you know he'«s 
going to do me in the moment he gets out, 
but I haven't told you why." 

" Where is he now ? " asked Leon. 

"Devizes Jail; he's gone there for his 
discharge. He'll be out in two months." 

" And then he'll come straight to you, you 
think ? " 

She shook her head. 

Digitized by Google 

"Not he," she said, bitterly. "That 
ain't his way. You don't know him, Mr. 
Lucas. But nobody does know him like I 
do. If he'd come straight to me, it'd be all 
right, but he's not that kind. He's going to 
kill me, I tell you, and I don't care how soon 
it comes. He wasn't called Bash Jones for 
nothing. I'll get it all right ! " she nodded, 
grimly. " He'll just walk into the room 
and bash me without a word, and that'll be 
the end of Amelia Jones. But I don't mind, 
I don't mind," she repeated. " It's the 
other that's breaking my heart and has been 
all the time." 

He knew it was useless to try to persuade 
her to tell her troubles, and at closing time 
they left the bar together. 

"I'd ask you home only that might make 
it worse, and "I don't want to get you into 
any kind of bother, Mr. Lucas," she said. 

He offered his hand. It was the first time 
he had done so, and she took it in her big 
limp palm and shook it feebly. 

" Very few people have shaken hands with 
Amelia Jones," thought Gonsalez, and he 
went back to the flat in Jermyn Street to 
find Manfred asleep before the fire. 

HE was waiting at Paddington Station 
the next morning in a suit a little less 
shabby and, to his surprise, Mrs. Jones 
appeared dressed in better taste than he 
could have imagined was possible. Her 
clothes were plain, but they effectively 
disguised the class to which she belonged. 
She took the tickets for Swindon and there 
was little conversation on the journey. 
Obviously she did not intend to unburden 
her mind as yet. 

The train was held up at Newbury whilst 
a slow up-train shunted to allow a school 
special to pass. It was crowded with boys 
and girls who waved a cheery and promis- 
cuous greeting as they passed. 

" Of course ! " nodded Leon ; "it is the 
beginning of the Easter holidays. I had 

At Swindon they alighted, and then for the 
first time the # woman gave some indication 
as to the object of their journey. 

" We've got to stay on this platform," she 
said, nervously. " I'm expecting to see 
somebody, and I'd like you to see her, too, 
Mr. Lucas." 

Presently another special ran into the 
station, and the majority of the passengers in 
this train also were children. Several alighted 
at the junction, apparently to change for 
some other destination than London, and 
Leon was talking to the woman, who he knew 
was not listening, when he saw her face light 
up. She left him with a little gasp and 
walked quickly along the platform to greet 
a tall, pretty girl : wearing the crimson and 


Edgar Wallace 


vvhite hat- ribbon of a famous West of England 

" Why, Mrs + Jones, it is so kind of you to 
come down to see me, I wish you wouldn't 
take so much trouble. I should be only too 
Jiappy to come to London/' she laughed, 
'* Is this a friend of yours ? " 

She shook hands with Leon, her eyes 
smiling her friendliness. 

" It's all right, Miss Grace," said Mrs. 
Jones, agitated. " I just thought I'd pop 
down and have a look at you. How are you 
getting on at school, miss ? " 

" Oh, splendidly! " said the girl. * I've 
won a scholarship," 

" Isn't that lovely ! " said Mrs. Jones in 

an awe-stricken voice. " You always was 
wonderful, my dear/' 

The girl turned to Leon, 

" Mrs. Jones was my nurse, you know, years 
and years ago, weren't you, Sirs. Jones ? ' 

Amelia Jones noddcxl. 

li How is your husband ? Is he still un- 
pleasant ? " 

'"Oh, he ain't so bad, miss/' said Mrs. 
Jones, bravely. 'He's a little trying at 

*" Do you know, I should like to meet him." 

E * Oh, no, you wouldn't, miss/' gasped 
Amelia, *' That's only your kind heartt 
Where are you spending your holidays* 
miss ? " she asked. 

1 I'll never see her again I 

Diqi'.ized by \Ii OC 


uttered, brokenly. * VW rue vei ztt her again ] 



The Four Just Men 

" With some friends of mine at Clifton — 
Molly Walker, Sir George Walker's daughter." 

The eyes of Amelia Jones devoured the girl, 
and Leon knew that all the love in her barren 
life was lavished upon this child she had 
nursed. They walkepl up and down the 
platform together, and when her train came 
in, Mrs. Jones stood , at the carriage door 
until it drew out from the station, and then 
waited motionless, looking after the express 
until it melted in the distance. 

" I'll never see her again ! " she muttered, 
brokenly. "I'll never see her again ! Oh, 
my God ! " 

Her face was drawn and ghastly in its 
pallor, and Leon took her arm. 

" You must come and have some refresh- 
ment, Mrs. Jones. You are very fond of 
that young lady ? " 

" Fond of her ? " She turned upon him. 
" Fond of her ? She — she is my daughter ! " 

They had a carriage to themselves going 
back to town and Mrs. Jones told her story. 

" f*> RACE was three years old when her 
Vj father got into trouble, "she said. "He 
had always been a brute and I think 
he'd been under the eyes of the police since he 
was a bit of a kid. I didn't know this when 
I married him. I was nursemaid in a house 
that he'd burgled, and I 'was discharged 
because I'd left the kitchen door ajar for him, 
not knowing that he was a thief. He did 
one long lagging, and when he came out he 
swore he wouldn't go back to prison again, 
and the next time, if there was any danger 
of an alarm being raised, he would make it a 
case of murder. He and another man got 
into touch with a rich bookmaker on Black- 
heath. Bash used to do his dirty work for 
him, but they quarrelled, and Bash and his 
pal burgled the house and got away with 
nearly nine thousand pounds. 

" It was a big race day and Bash knew 
there 'd be a lot of money in notes that had 
been taken on the race-course and that 
couldn't be traced. I thought he'd killed 
this man at first. It wasn't his fault that 
he hadn't. He walked into the room and 
bashed him as he ' lay in bed — that was 
Bash's way — that's how he got his name. 
He thought there 'd be a lot of inquiries and 
gaye me the money to look after. I had to 
put the notes into an old beer-jar half -full of 
sand, ram in the cork, and cover the cork and 
the neck with candle-fat so that the water 
couldn't get through, and then put it in the 
cistern, which he could reach from one of the 
upstairs rooms at the back of the house. I 
was nearly mad with fear because I thought 
the gentleman had been killed, but I did as 
I was told and sank the jar in the cistern. 
That night Bash and his mate were getting 
away to the north of England when they 

by V_iOOgle 

were arrested at Euston Station. Bash's 
friend was killed, for he ran across the line in 
front of an engine, but they caught Bash and 
the house was searched from end to end. He 
got fifteen years' penal servitude, and he 
would have been out two years ago if he 
hadn't been a bad character in prison. 

" When he was in jail I had to sit down and 
think, Mr. Lucas, and my first thought was 
of my child. I saw the kind of life that she 
was going to grow up to, the surroundings, 
the horrible slums, the fear of the police, for 
I knew that Bash would spend a million, if 
he had it, in a few weeks. I knew I was free 
of Bash for at least twelve years, and I thought 
and I thought and at last I made up my mind. 

" It was twelve months after he was in 
jail that I dared get the money, for the 
police were still keeping their eye on me as 
the money had not been found. I won't 
tell you how I bought grand clothes so that 
nobody would suspect I was a working 
woman or how I changed the money. 

" I put it all into shares. I'm not well 
educated, but I read the newspapers for 
months, the columns about money. At first 
I was puzzled and I could make no end to it, 
but after a while I got to understand, and it 
was in an Argentine company that I invested 
the money, and I got a lawyer in Bermondsey 
to make a trust of it. She gets the interest 
every quarter and pays her own bills — I've 
never touched a penny of it. The next 
thing was to get my little girl out of the 
neighbourhood, and I sent her away to a 
home for small children — it broke my heart 
to part with her — until she was old enough 
to go into a school. I used to see her regu- 
larly, and when, after my first visit, I found 
she had almost forgotten who I was, I 
pretended that I'd been her nurse — and 
that's the story." 

Gonsalez was silent. 

" Does your husband know ? " 

" He knows I spent the money," said the 
woman, staring blankly out of the window. 
" He knows that the girl is at a good school. 
He'll find out ! " — she spoke almost in a 
whisper. " He'll find out ! " 

So that was the tragedy ! Leon was struck 
dumb by the beauty of this woman's sacrifice. 
When he found his voice again, he asked : — 

" Why do you think he will kill you ? 
These kind of people threaten." 

" Bash doesn't threaten as a rule," she 
interrupted him. " It's the questions he's 
been asking people who know me. People 
from Deptford who he's met in prison. 
Asking what I do at nights, what time I go 
to bed, what I do in the daytime. That's 
Bash's way." 

" I see," said Leon. " Has anybody 
given him the necessary particulars ? " he 


Original from 


Edgar Wallace 


She shook her head. 

" They've done their best for me/* she 
said. " They are bad characters and they 
commit crimes, but there's some good 
hearts amongst them. They have told him 

" Are you sure ? " 

"I'm certain. If they had he wouldn't 
be still asking. Why, Toby Brown came up 
from Devizes a month ago and told me Bash 
was there and was still asking questions 
about me. He'd told Toby that he'd never 
do another lagging, and that he reckoned he'd 
be alive up to Midsummer Day if they caught 

Leon went up to his flat that night exalted. 

" What have you been doing with your- 
self ? " asked Manfred. " I, for my part, 
have been lunching with the excellent 
Mr. Fare." 

" And I have been moving in a golden 
haze of glory I Not my own, no, not my 
own, Manfred," he shook his head, " but the 
glory of Amelia Jones. A wonderful woman, 
George. For her sake I am going to take a 
month's holiday, during which time you can 
go back to Spain and see our beloved Poiccart 
&nd hear all about the onions." 

" I would like to go back to Madrid for a 
few days," said Manfred, thoughtfully. " I 
find London particularly attractive, but if 
you- really are going to take a holiday — 
where are you spending it, by the way ? " 

" In Devizes Jail," replied Gonsalez, 
cheerfully, and Manfred had such faith in 
his friend that he offered no comment. 

1EON GONSALEZ left for Devizes the 
_j next afternoon. He arrived in the town 
at dusk and staggered unsteadily up 
the rise toward the market-place. At ten 
o'clock that night a police-constable found 
him leaning against a wall at the back of 
the Bear Hotel, singing foolish songs, and 
ordered him to move away. Whereupon 
Leon addressed him in language for which 
he was at the time (since he was perfectly 
sober) heartily ashamed. Therefor did he 
appear before a bench of magistrates the 
next morning, charged with being drunk, 
using abusive language, and obstructing the 
police in the execution of their duty. 

" This is hardly a case which can be met 
by imposing a fine," said the staid chairman 
of the Bench. " Here is a stranger from 
London who comes into this town and behaves 
in a most disgusting manner. Is anything 
known against the man ? " 

" Nothing, sir," said the jailer, regretfully. 

" You will pay a fine of twenty shillings or 
go to prison for twenty-one days." 
• "I would much rather go to prison than 
pay," said Leon, truthfully. 

Diqiliz&d by \jOOQIC 

So they committed him to the local jail, 
as he had expected. Twenty-one days later, 
looking very brown and fit, he burst into the 
flat and Manfred turned with outstretched 

" I heard you were back," said Leon, 
joyously. " I've had a great time ! They 
rather upset my calculations by giving me 
three weeks instead of a month, and 1 was 
afraid that I'd get back before you." 

" I came back yesterday," said George, 
and his eyes strayed to the sideboard. 

Six large Spanish onions stood in a row, 
and Leon Gonsalez doubled up with mirth. 
It was not until he had changed into more 
presentable garments that he told of his 

" Bash Jones had undoubtedly homicidal 
plans," he said. i# The most extraordinary 
case of facial anamorphosis I have seen. I 
worked with him in the tailor's shop. He is 
coming out next Monday." 

" He welcomed you, I presume, when he 
discovered you were from Deptford ? " said 
Manfred, dryly. 

Leon nodded. 

" He intends to kill his wife on the third 
of the month, which is the day after he is 
released," he said. 

" Why so precise ? " asked Manfred, in 

" Because that is the only night she sleeps 
in the house alone. There are usually two 
young men lodgers who are railway men and 
these do duty until three in the morning on 
the third of every month." 

" Is this the truth or are you making it 
up ? " asked Manfred. 

"I did make it up," admitted Gonsalez. 
'* But this is the story I told and he swallowed 
it eagerly. The young men have no key, so 
they come in by the kitchen door, which is 
left unlocked. The kitchen door is reached 
by a narrow passage which runs the length 
of Little Mill Street and parallel with the 
houses. Oh, yes, he was frightfully anxious 
to secure information, and he told me that 
he would never come back to jail again 
except for a short visit. An interesting 
fellow. I think he had better die," said 
Leon, with some gravity. " Think of the 
possibilities for misery, George. This un- 
fortunate girl, happy in her friends, well- 
bred " 

" Would you sav that," smiled Manfred, 
" with Bash for a father ? " 

" Well-bred, I repeat," said Gonsalez, 
firmly. M Breeding is merely a quality 
acquired through lifelong association with 
gentlefolk. Put the son of a duke in the 
slums and he'll grow up a peculiar kind of 
slum child, but a slum child, nevertheless. 
Think of the horror of it. Dragging this 
child back to the kernels of Deptford, for 



The Four Just Men 

He choked, turned to run, and fell, and the yellow ga* tolled over him in a thick 

and turgid cloud/* 

that will be the meaning of it r supposing this 
Mr, Bash Jones does not kill his wife. If he 
kills her then the grisly truth is out. No, I 
think we had better settle this Mr, Bash 

" I agree/ 1 said Manfred, puffing thought- 
fully at his ci^ar, and Leon Gonsalez sat 
down at the table with Browning's poems 
open before him and read, pausing now and 
again to look thoughtfully into space as he 
elaborated the method by which Bash Jones 
should die 

Digitized by dOOgle 

ON the afternoon of the third, Mrs. 
Amelia Jones was called away by 
telegram, She met Leon Gonsalez at 
Paddington Station. 

" You have brought your key with you, 
Mre. Jones ? " 

li Yes p sir/' said the woman in surprise. 
Then : "Do you know that my husband is 
out of prison ? " 

M I know, I know/ 1 said Gonsalez, M and 
because he is free I want you to go away fcr 
a couple of nights, I have some friends in 


Edgar Wallace 


-Plymouth. They will probably meet you 
at the station, and if they do not meet you~ 
'you must go to this address." 
: He gavfe her an address of a boarding- 
house that he had secured from a Plymouth 
riewspajfer. ;" -" 

"Here is some money. I insist upon your 
taking it. My friends are very anxious to 
help you." 

She was in tears when he left her. 

' You are svwe- you have locked up your 
house ? "said Leon, at parting. 
. '" I've got the key here, sir." 

She opened her bag -and he noticed that 
now her hands trembled all the time. 
'I " Let me sfce/' said Leon, taking the 
bag in his hand and peering at the interior 
in his short-sighted way. "Yes, there it# 

He put in his hand, brought it out ap- 
parently empty, and closed the bag again. 

" Good-bye, Mrs. Jones," he said, "and 
don't lose courage." 

WHEN dark fell Leon Gonsalez arrived 
in Little Mill Street carrying a bulky 
something in a black cloth bag. He 
entered the house unobserved, for the night 
was wet and gusty and Little Mill Street 
crouched over its scanty fires. 

He closed the door behind him and with 
the aid of his pofcket-lamp found his way to 
the one poor bedroom in the tiny house. He 
turned down the covers, humming to himself, 
then very carefully he removed the contents 
of the bag, the most important of which was 
a large glass globe. - : , 

Over this he carefuHy arranged a black 
wig and searched the room for articles of 
clothing which might be rolled into a bundle. 
When he had finished his work, he stepped 
back and regarded it with admiration. Then 
he went downstairs, unlocked the kitchen 
door, and to make absolutely certain crossed 
the little yard and examined the fastening of 
the gate which led from the lane. The lock 
apparently was permanently out of order 
and he went back satisfied.- 

In one corner of the room was a clothes- 
hanger, screened from view by a Jength of 
cheap cretonne. He had cleared this corner 
of its clothing to make up the bundle in the 
bed. Then he sat down in a chair and waited 

with the patience which is the peculiar 
attribute of the scientist. " 

The church bells had struck two when he 
heard the back-gate creak, and rising noise- 
lessly took something from his pocket and 
stepped behind the cretonne curtain. It was 
not a house in which one could move without 
sound, for the floor- boards were old and 
creaky and every stair produced a crack. 
But the man who was creeping from step to 
step was an artist, and Leon heard no other 
sound until the door slowly opened and a 
figure came in. 

It moved with stealthy steps across the 
room and stood for a few seconds by the side 
of the bulky figure in the bed. Apparently 
he listened and was satisfied. Then Leon 
saw a stick raised and fall. 

, Bash Jones did not say a word until he 
heard the crash of the broken glass. Then 
he uttered an oath and Leon heard him 
fumble in his pocket for his matches. The 
delay was fatal. The chlorine gas, com- 
pressed at a pressure of many atmospheres, 
surged up around him. He choked, turned 
to run, and fell, and the yellow gas rolled over 
him iq*a thick and turgid cloud. 

Leon Gonsalez stepped from his place of 
concealment and the dying man, staring up, 
saw two enormous glass eyes' and the snout- 
like nozzle of the respirator and went be- 
wildered to his death. 

Leon collected the broken glass and care- 
fully wrapped the pieces in his bag. He 
replaced the clothes with the most extra- 
ordinary care and put away the wig and 
tidied the room before he opened the window 
and the door. Then he went to the front of 
,the house and opened those windows, too. 
A south-wester was blowing, and by the 
morning the house would be free from gas. 

Not until he was in the back -yard did he 
remove the gas-mask he wore and place that, 
too, in the bag. 

An hour later he was in his own bed in a 
deep, untroubled sleep. 

MRS. JONES slept well that night, and 
in a dainty cubicle somewhere in the 
West of England a slim, girlish figure 
in pyjamas snuggled into her pillow anil 
sighed happily. 

But Bash Jones slept soundest of all. 

(Next month : " The Man Who Was Happy .") 

by Google 

Original from 


PERPLEXITIES. By henry e. dudeney. 

An ingenious American has 
just discovered that this six- 
pointed star can be cut into 
as few as five pieces that will 
fit together and form a perfect 
square. To perform the feat 
in seven pieces is quite easy t 
but to do it in five is a clever 
performance. I introduce the 
dotted lines merely to show 

the true proportions of the star, which is thus built 

up of twelve equilateral triangles. 

There is a family resemblance between puzzles like 
our No. 555, where an arithmetical working has to be 
reconstructed from a few figures and a number of 
asterisks, and those in which every digit is represented 
by a letter, but they are really quite different. The 
resemblance lies in the similarity of the process of 
solving. Here is a little example of the latter class 
It can hardly be called difficult. 




Can you reconstruct this simple division sum ? 
digit is represented by a different letter. 



" My neighbour," said Mr. Grindle, " generously 
offered me, for a garden, as much land as I could 
enclose with four straight walls measuring 7, 8, 9, and 
10 rods in length respectively." 

*' And what was the largest area you were able to 
enclose ? " asked his 

Perhaps the reader 
can discover Mr. 
Grindle 's correct 
answer. You see, 
in the case of three 
sides the triangle 
can only enclose one 
area, but with four 
sides it is quite 
different. For 
example, it i s ob- 
vious that the area of diagram A is greater than that 
of B, though the sides are the same. The answer is 
absurdly easy to obtain if you happen to know the 
rule in such cases. But do you ? 

entertaining little 

570.— A NEW 
I FOUND this quite an entertaining little letter 
puzzle. I proposed to form a chain of words in the 
following manner, so that all the capital letters, except 
the first and last, should serve a double purpose, the 
last letter of one word forming the first of the next 
throughout : — 

AdverBasiCarDinE, and so on. 
I soon arrived at the conclusion that all the letters 

of the alphabet taken for the capitals in their regular 
order is impossible, owing to difficulties with Q, J, and 
V as final letters, but with the amended condition 
that the twenty-six capitals may be taken in any order 
I was rather surprised to find that it may be done with- 
out much difficulty. Every word in my solution is 
contained in any ordinary English dictionary. How 
many minutes will it take you to construct such a 
chain ? 

Solutions to Last MontVs Puzzles* 


The inner circle has half the diameter of the whole 
wheel, and therefore has half the circumference. If it 
. merely ran along the imaginary line C D it would 
require two revolutions : after the first, the point D 
would be at E. But the point B would be at F, instead 
of at G, which is absurd. The fact is the inner circle 
makes only one revolution, but in passing from one 
position to the other it progresses partly by its own 

revolution and partly by carriage on the wheel. The 
point A gets to B entirely by its own revolution, but if 
you imagine a point at the very centre of the wheel (a 
point has no dimensions and therefore no circum- 
ference), it goes the same distance entirely by what I 
have called carriage. The curve described by the 
passage of the point A to B is a common cycloid, but 
the point C in going to D describes a curtate trochoid 
-which implies that both points " get there," only by 

different means ! 

564.— A CHARADE. 


There must have been three boys and three girls, 
each of whom received two buns at three a penny and 
one bun at two a penny, the cost of which would be 
exactly sevenpence. 


In the first column write in the successive remainders, 
which are 1 o o o o 1 1, or reversed, 1 1 o o o o 1. This 
is 97 in the binary scale of notation, or 1 plus a 5 plus 2 6 . 
In the second column (after rejecting the numbers 
opposite to the remainder o) we add together 23 x 1, 
2$ x 2 s . 23 x 2 6 , equals 2,231. The whole effect of the 

process is now obvious, 
the binary scale. 

It is merely an operation in 

by v^ 




The first two solutions, with divisors 442 and .-44. 
given in our July issue, are incorrect, as they involve 
the omission of an asterisk in the fifth line. They 
should be 

846) 1200474 ( 1419 

848 ) 1202464 ( 1 418 




Halcyon Days 



/" ^yty^i^hijjf' f, - 




Days of Play and Healthy Toil 

Here we see Farmer Brown graciously accepting from the 
youngsters Mackintosh's Toffee -de - Luxe, for it is a great 
favourite alike with old and young. 

In 4 -lb. Family Tins, Small Tins, and loose 
by weight* Confectioner a everywhere are 
selling the original pre - war quality of 
Toffee - de - Luxe ; the delicious quality that 
made Toffee-de-Luxe famous and which is 
unrivalled in sweetmeats. 

Every bit as good as the plain Toffee-de- 
Luxe are Eg? and Cream Toffee-de-Luxe 
and Chocolate Toffee -de- Luxe. 

Mackintosh** Toffee- Jc-Luxe has 
the largest sale in (he world. 


Toffee -de - Luxe 









by Google 

Original from 







The Adventure of 
theMazarin Stone 

2 89 





A Goran Doyle 



IT was pleasant to Dr. Watson to find 
himself once more in the untidy room 
of the first floor in Baker Street 
which had been the starting-point of 
so many remarkable adventures, He looked 
round him at the scientific charts upon the 
wall, the acid -charred bench of chemicals, 
the violin -case leaning in the corner, the coal- 
scuttle, which contained of old the pipes and 
tobacco. Finally, his eyes came round to 
the fresh and smiling face of Billy, the young 
hut very wise and tactful page, who had 
helped a little to fill up the gap of loneliness 
and isolation which surrounded the saturnine 
figure of the great detective* 

" It all seems very unchanged, Billy. You 
don't change, either. I hope the same can 
be said of him ? " 

Billy glanced, with some solicitude, at the 
closed door of the bedroom. 

" I think he's in bed and asleep," he said, 
It was seven in the evening of a lovely 
summer's day, but Dr. Watson was suffi- 
ciently familiar with the irregularity of his 
old friend's hours to feel no surprise at the 

" That means a case, I suppose ? " 

" Yes, sir ; he is very hard at it just now. 

I'm frightened for his health. He gets paler 

and thinner, and he eats nothing. 'When 

will you be pleased to dine, Mr. Holmes ? ' 

Vol. Ex Si.— 19. Copyright, ip i, 

Mrs. Hudson asked, ' Seven -thirty, the day 
after to-morrow/ said he. You know his 
way when he is keen on a case." 

-i Yes, Billy, I know." 

4i He's following someone. Yesterday he 
was out as a workman looking for a job. To- 
day he was an old woman. Fairly took me ' 
in, he did, and I ought to know his ways by 
now/* Billy pointed with a grin to a very 
baggy parasol which leaned against the sofa, 
" That's part of the old woman's outfit/ 1 he 

" But what is it all about, Billy ? " 

Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses 
great secrets of State. '* I don't mind telling 
you, sir, but it should go no farther. It's 
this case of the Crown diamond." 

" What — the hundred - thousand - pounc^ 
burglary ? " 

1 Yes, sir. They must get it back, sir. 
Why, we had the Prime Minister and the 
Home Secretary both sitting on that very 
sofa. Mr. Holmes was very nice to them. 
He soon put them at their ease and promised 
he would do all he could. Then there is 
Lord Cantlemere ** 

- Aht " 

41 Yes, sir: you know what that means* 
He's a stiff 'un, sir, if I may say so. I can 
get along ivfth the Prime Minister, and I've 
hing against the p Home Secretary, who 


rt&D Doyle, 



The Adventure of the Mazarin Stone 

seemed a civil, obliging sort of man, but I 
can't stand his lordship. Neither can Mr. 
Holmes, sir. You see, he don't believe in 
Mr. Holmes and he was against employing 
him. He'd rather he failed." 

" And Mr. Holmes knows it ? " 

" Mr. Holmes always knows whatever 
there is to know." 

" Well, we'll hope he won't fail and that 
Lord Cantlemere will be confounded. But I 
say, Billy, what is that curtain for across the 
window ? " 

" Mr. Holmes had it put up there three 
days ago. We've got something funny 
behind it." 

Billy advanced and drew away the drapery 
which screened the alcove of the bow window. 

Dr. Watson could not restrain a cry of 
amazement. There was a facsimile of his old 
friend, dressing-gown and all, the face turned 
three-quarters towards the window and 
downwards, as though reading an invisible 
book, while the body was sunk deep in an 
armchair. Billy detached the head and held 
it in the air. 

M We put it at different angles, so that it 
may seem more life-like. I wouldn't dare 
touch it if the blind were not down. But 
when it's up you c^n see this from across the 

" We used something of the sort once 

' Before my time," said Billy. He drew 
the window curtains apart and looked out 
into the street. " There are folk who watch 
us from over yonder. I can see a fellow now 
at the window. Have a look for yourself." 

WATSOX had taken a step forward when 
the bedroom door opened, and the 
long, thin form of Holmes emerged, 
his face pale and drawn, but his step and 
bearing as active as ever. With a single 
spring he was at the window, and had 
drawn the blind once more. 

•' That will do, Billy," said he. " You were 
in danger of your life then, my boy, and I 
can't do without you just yet. Well, Watson, 
it is good to see you in your old quarters 
once again. You come at a critical moment." 

" So I gather." 

11 You can go, Billy. That boy is a problem, 
Watson. How far am I justified in allowing 
him to be in danger ? " 

" Danger of what, Holmes ? " 

" Of sudden death. I'm expecting some- 
thing this evening." 

" Expecting what ? " 

" To be murdered, Watson." 

" No, no ; you are joking, Holmes ! " 

" Even my limited sense of humour could 
evolve a better joke than that. But we may 
be comfortable in the meantime, may we 
not ? Is alcohol permitted ? The gasogene 

and cigars are in .the old place. Let me see 
you once more in the customary armchair. 
You have not, I hope, learned to despise my 
pipe and my lamentable tobaccc ? It has to 
take the place of food these days." 

" But why not eat ? " 

" Because the faculties become refined 
when you starve them. Why, surely, as a 
doctor, my dear Watson, you must admit that 
what your digestion gains in the way of blood 
supply is so much lost to the brain. I am a 
brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere 
appendix. Therefore, it is the brain I must 

" But this danger, Holmes ? " 

" Ah, yes ; in case it should come off, it 
would perhaps be as well that you should 
burden your memory with the name and 
address of the murderer. You can give it to 
Scotland Yard, with my love and a parting 
blessing. Sylvius is the name— Count 
Negretto Sylvius. Write it down, man, 
write it down ! 136, Moorside Gardens, N.W. 
Got it ? " 

Watson's honest face was twitching with 
anxiety. He knew only too well the immense 
risks taken by Holmes, and was well aware 
that what he said was more likely to be 
under-statement than exaggeration. Watson 
was always the man of action, and he rose to 
the occasion. 

" Count me in, Holmes. I have nothing to 
do for a day or two." 

" Your morals don't improve, Watson.